The Years of Our Titans
by storm-brain
Summary: A Hunter. A general. A slave. A deadly game of chess with no one gaining the upper hand. The war between the Titans and the Olympians they thought they'd defeated. Life and death and love and hate and betrayal and trust. Welcome to the Years of our Lords
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I'm rewriting this, because yes, it needs it, and fine. You win. I can't give up on fanfiction, though I'm still trying. So shut up.**

**O-o**

_"You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."  
— Anne Lamott_

**O-o**

Dear Thalia

How long will it be before I stop getting the urge to look to look to you for orders, before I realize that now, it's all me? How long before I stop seeing it whenever I close my eyes—following you as we sprinted across a bloody battlefield, the ground exploding under you? How long before your gasp of surprise stops echoing in my ears every night before I fall asleep? How long before I stop telling myself that I should have been the one to step on it?

How long before I stop asking my dead best friend pointless questions? You're dead. Dead. The proof is sitting shiny on my forehead.

I like to think that I've held it up pretty well. Now that instead of commanding twelve, there's two hundred. Now that instead of roaming wherever we choose we're constricted to one small territory.

We used to have it good, didn't we.

Titan forces haven't found us yet, at least. We're in the satyr's sanctuary, just outside of Seattle. Protected by such strong magic that they could stand by the dining hall and not see any of it.

I'd say thank the gods, but the gods haven't a hope of hearing me. We don't know where they are, but we're looking. (We'll find them, we have to find them. And then we're going to make them suffer.)

I miss Artemis, but that's different then I miss you. I'm going to find her, Thalia, I swear. I'm going to find her or die trying. She's the one I can help. Unlike you. Unlike Phoebe. Unlike Lydia. Unlike Robin and Lark.

Dawn, Robin, Marisol, Lily, Isis, Rio, Willow, and me. Gods, that seems so small when I write it down. But at least we're not fighting alone anymore.

Originally, the resistance was the group of survivors that fled after the Titans took control. We've had more recruits since they made their presence known. Since they demanded sacrifice, and have mortals fight to the death for their entertainment. Since slaves became common and since normal society went haywire.

…and since Eden Emmerson became one of the most feared names in the world. So I have to stay strong, I have to look tough. I have to look like I actually _can _lead a rebellion, and hope the cracks don't show because if they widen I'll fall apart.

How did you do it? How did you manage to make it that long? You and all _your _losses? You were always stronger than me. I don't know if you would even recognize us now. I don't recognize my voice after a year with mortals. Lily used to laugh more. (And yet you wouldn't are about these things because you were the strong one.) 

And yet, my some cruel twist of fate, now I lead an army.

And you're dead.

If I'm unlucky, I'll be seeing you soon.

Yours,

Eden.

O-o

**Yeah… this is a rewrite of a story that I started in the spring of 2008, also called Years of our Titans. A lot of you have read it. A lot of you haven't. For those that haven't, do me a favor and don't start it. **


	2. Chapter 2

**And here, as promised, is chapter two. **

**O-o**

_"The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."  
— __Mark Twain_

O-o

An arrow hit the glass, and the window shattered. An alarm was added to the general sounds of screams and panicked feet.

"Eden!" A teenage girl knelt on the roof of a store, bow out. There was a celestial bronze arrow aimed at a herd of monsters. "Come on!"

Eden raised her sword, fending off an attack from a uniformed titan soldier. Her sword whipped around him as if it had a life of its own, and clubbed him in the side of the head. He took a few steps back, eyes a little unfocused.

There wasn't any space in her head for fear or panic. It was as if any feelings had left her body completely as she knocked an arrow to her bow and shot a patrol monster clean through the head.

"Eden!"

A silver arrow flew past her face, hitting a hellhound in the chest. It stumbled, heavy tongue hanging out of its mouth. It was still alive. Too alive.

She couldn't look behind her—it might lunge—she could only rely on her ears to guess that there were several other unlovable creatures running up Yesler.

"Cover my back!" She wasn't sure if the other Hunter heard her.

The evening sun chose that moment to sneak out from behind it's cloud. It lit up a store window, and the reflection was thrown into Eden's eyes.

Make no mistake. They had picked the wrong street to be walking down. They should have taken Yesler, or Pine, or Madison—

The footsteps behind her were far too close, but she hadn't taken out this hellhound yet. She could hear the _twang _of Dawn's bow, but how many were there? Ten? Twenty? There were only so many arrows one could shoot at a time.

Eden wondered if she was going to meet her unheroic demise on this sleazy street corner.

She wondered if she cared.

_Bang! _

Eden reacted on instinct, twisting to one side. The bullet bit the pavement, and she spun around. The arrow left her bow, hitting the mortal in the chest. Behind him were several bodies—those that Dawn had taken out already. Eden didn't know if they were alive or dead, and she didn't have the time to find out.

The hellhound snarled, jumping at her. A second arrow hit it without a moment's hesitation, and, not waiting to see where it would land, Eden dashed across the street, jumping across the tops of the cars that were sitting bumper-to-bumper, their drivers watching the commotion—some of whom who's drivers had fled—and to the small grocery store Dawn was perched on top of.

"_Maia!_" She lifted off. It took nearly fifteen seconds to reach the roof, and each one she imagined being shot in the back. That was the frustrating thing about these shoes—their _slowness. _Eden landed on top of the sign, then looked over her shoulder and what ten minutes earlier had been a relatively peaceful street. Another hellhound unit was cantering down the road, still maybe two blocks away.

"This would be our cue to leave," Dawn muttered.

When Eden was seven, before she had started at Camp, before she realized how important her heritage was, she had taken ballet dances. Sometimes, the teacher would stack some foam bricks on the floor and they would all take turns running and leaping over them.

She had quit ballet by the time she was ten, but the leap had stayed with her. Only now, instead of safe foam, there was a ten foot drop below her.

But the beauty of Downtown Seattle was that normally, a block was just one long, continuous building with partitions. It was a great escape route.

"We should get to street level," Dawn panted, leaping over a tangle of pipes. "Try and… blend in."

"Two teenage girls with bows and arrows? _Maia!_" Eden fluttered—painfully slowly—across the street to the next set of buildings.

"Well," Dawn said, looking around. There didn't seem to be anyone following them. Yet. "It's better then running across the rooftops. Now _that's _inconspicuous."

"It's not like they look up much." Still, Eden turned into an alleyway before landing, and pulled up her hood.

This probably wasn't going to work. They were probably going to get spotted and attacked.

But this afternoon seemed like a fair price to pay for the couple hundred arrowheads in their backpacks.

The alley was old enough that it was still brick. Not like the Titans care, Eden thought, staring at an ancient sign.

_What would you like in this alleyway? _It asked. _For innovative and local art, text 195 to 66770. For a mural, text 395 to 66770. For small food stands, text 295 to 66770. _

It had obviously been there since the Titans took over a year ago, and probably since before the Decade of Chaos, in which the Titans rose and began fighting in earnest.

_Percy Jackson my ass. _

She had seen him, been forced to endure his presence that hellish winter at Camp Half-blood, and again at the Final Battle. Sure, he had been able to fight well, but he wasn't a god. He hadn't been able to dispose of Kronos properly.

And that had been their downfall, when he was able to rise again, almost out of nowhere.

Eden and Dawn stepped out onto the main road, looking around again.

"How are we going to get back?" Dawn whispered.

The least the city could do for them was have it rain. But the whole city was bathed in a soft yellow glow, and, under any normal circumstances, the whole thing—buildings, the sparkling water, the Olympic mountains—would have been beautiful.

"Should we just wait for dark?" Eden muttered, taking a step back as a patrol officer marched obliviously past them.

"I don't know. I don't want to stay in the city any longer than is necessary."

Eden pushed her lieutenant band up a little, thinking. She didn't want to have to stay in the city either. She hated the feeling of having to sneak down a public street, like she wasn't even a person.

_What would Thalia do? _She wondered. _What would Zoë do? _

_  
_It wasn't hard to guess.

"We'll stay here," she declared, lieutenant side taking over. "Then sneak out in an hour when it gets dark."

Dawn nodded. "Right. You know, Greg is _so _not going to be happy with you."

Eden sighed. "Probably not. But I don't give a damn. He can't control me."

The other Hunter smiled wryly. "So we've heard."

Eden walked a few steps back into the alley and leaned against a wall. Her eyes felt like they were going to be glued to the sides of her head. If only she had vision on both sides, like a rabbit.

"And anyway," she added after a second. "He gave me the task of getting someone to do it. He didn't say _who._"

"I hear ya." Dawn turned away from her and continued staring at the street.

Her adrenaline slowly ebbed, and she wished for somewhere safe to sleep, or at least to close her eyes for just a little bit…

There was a small black box nailed to one brick wall. It looked a little new—it didn't fit in with the general decor of this abandoned alleyway. Why would anyone put it there?

She took a few steps closer, eyes narrowed, wondering if it was an explosive. "Dawn."

"Yeah?"

"Do you see this?"

Both Hunters were silent for a moment.

"Do you think it looks like what I think it looks like?" Eden asked.

"Um."

Eden pulled an arrow from her quiver and, gingerly, prodded at it. It slide a few inches to one side, but remained at the same height.

Now that she thought about it, there was a soft hum in the air that had been previously masked by the cars on the road. She poked the box again, and it bobbed a little.

_Oh, shit. _

Quickly, she cast her mind back to what they had said. They had only spoken about how to get back right? They hadn't given anything important away.

She reached out and grabbed the box, lifting it up to eye level. She could see the glass move as the lens tried to focus. "Sorry I'm going to have to cut off this amazing footage. Places to be, things to do."

"Eden—" Dawn stopped.

Eden raised her sword, cleaving the floating camera in two. "Let's get out of here."

**O-o**

**You know you're in trouble when you spend all of Friday afternoon discussing height with the Veritas. I blame Erin, Theia, Bianca, and Zoë for not having this chapter posted earlier. Lol.**

**Which reminds me. I was supposed to log off at nine am. It's now ten. Don't you hate how you go online and time is just eaten up? **

**Anyway.**

**Ruby Red Grapefruit—Well, I did.**

**Erin—you know you're in trouble when all you say is "I like the quote at the top." **

**Sheva—thanks!!! :D :D **

**All-AmericanGirl—I hope so. I just finished rereading the old version. It sucks. **

**You Know Who— Is dystopia one of your vocab words?**

**Tonycat—Thanks!!**

**Kanae—I like to think so. '**

**Sarra—Am working on it. **

**Moonrise—lol. Year and a half now. **


	3. Chapter 3

**And here would be chapter three… yeah. I finally finished outlining the whole thing. Some things stay the same from the other one, some things change. And I'm not going to tell you if the ending is one of those things. Bwahahaha. **

**O-o**

"_Swear not on the moon, the inconstant moon." _

_--Romeo and Juliet_

O-o

The moon looked different now that Artemis was no longer around to drive it.

It used to be a source of calm when she was away, attending to various godly duties. When the goddess's absence nagged at her, when she needed a reminder of who she was, she had been able to look at it and be comforted. Now, the same moon made her furious. Now it was a call for revenge.

_How dare they,_ she fumed. _How dare they take her away._

She had to fight to clear away the images—Artemis trying to fend off both Atlas and Kronos at once, Eden running to help her, Artemis being dragged away in chains, right arm missing.

_No,_ Eden told herself, picking a blade of grass. _I'm not going to think about that._ She twisted the blade around one finger. _I'm not thinking… I'm not thinking_… She looked up at the moon again, and the anger surged through her again, with little warning. Before she could stop it, a jolt went down her arm, making her hand glow bright white. The piece of grass exploded, small fragments falling around her like rain.

_No. Calm. Calm._

The anger slowly leaked away, and the light faded, making her lose her night vision. What if it had been something else she was touching? What if it had been a person? What if—

She closed her eyes. What wouldn't she give to get rid of this—this explosive power? In theory, it could be useful. In reality, not so much.

Because she couldn't control it.

She stood, staring again at the sky. "I'll find you, Artemis. I'll give you your moon back."

Eden turned and marched back across the field. The grass flattened under her feet, as if it was scared of her after what she did to their relative. Her lieutenant band glowed in the moonlight, as if it were mocking her efforts.

"Eden." A small, dark haired girl slipped out of the small cabin the Hunters occupied. 

"Rio."

"You're going to the council room?" Rio fell into step with her

.  
"Yeah. Kinda have to." She checked her watch. "Technically, I'm thirty seconds late."

"Atta girl." Rio smiled. "Way to show em. So who's there?" The members of the so-called council that actually showed up fluctuated, depending on who was recovering from injuries, who was on a mission, and who was dead. Eden swallowed.

"Adam of Apollo, current head of the archer unit. Rissa, Ares, for weapons. General Greg, Ferd of the satyrs and spirits, and Peter of Poseidon for the ground fighting." Eden recited.

Despite the late hour, the camp wasn't quiet. A light was on near one of the bunkers, and there were a few people practicing sword fighting. One of them didn't look older then twelve.

"Please tell me he's not going out fighting," Eden muttered, though there was no way Rio could know.

"Wha—oh." Rio turned too. "I don't think so. I think he's just in training."

Though she knew that there had been many twelve year olds fighting at Camp Half-Blood, it still gave her a guilty feeling. How many of these people were going to make it to their thirties? Or, for that matter, make it out of their teens?

"No Julia?" Rio asked after a short pause.

"No, the baby's making her sick." Yet another reason why the human reproductive systems were stupid.

The Hunters paused outside a door to a small building big enough for a table and a few chairs but not much else.

Rio grinned. "Give em hell."

Eden didn't laugh.

O-o

In the beginning, they hadn't taken her seriously, no matter how old she claimed to be. But now, Eden reflected, now they were all afraid of her.

Maybe it was because of the media hype—all the new recruits arrived expecting her. Maybe it was because she would explode when she was angry. Or maybe they had just realized she was serious about what she did, and they respected her. Or maybe it was because she had been training for a hundred and fifty years and could easily kill them, or many Titan minions.

But now matter how old she was, she was still in the body of a fourteen year old, and sometimes it showed.

"Listen to me!" She snapped, glowering at Adam. "Just goddamn listen for a moment." He was only eighteen, which wasn't that old anyway. He had no right to be so self righteous.

He crossed his arms. "But we have no idea where those things are, probably destroyed, and we can't waste valuable time looking for them."

"What have we been doing the last year?" Peter spoke up.

There was a loud crunch as Ferd bit down on a tin can. Everyone stared at him for a moment, before turning back to the argument.

"Zeus's bolt, Adam. The Trident. The Help. Artemis—" she swallowed. "Artemis's chariot. Do you realize—"

"But we're not _gods. _They'd probably blow up if we touched them." He protested.

"Maybe. But we need to try, need to try and keep them away from the Titans."

"We should try and discover their whereabouts. But if they are in Tartarus or nearby, we might be out of luck." General Greg Galdstrup put his hands down flat.

Eden sighed, eyes tracing the loops and swirls on the table. For a moment, she entertained the notion of just getting the Hunters and going for the weapons themselves—but no, the Athena side of her brain whispered. She couldn't risk losing anyone else.

"Also…" Eden hesitated. "I found out—the executions are on Friday at two. We should go—"

"What are you—it's _Monday._" Greg spluttered.

"Point?" Eden stared at him. They _needed _to do this. They needed to save them.

"We don't have—"

"Percy Jackson got Artemis back in five days," Peter said helpfully.

Eden considered glaring at him, but this time, he at least was on her side.

Maybe it was the room that always made her so cranky. It felt almost colonial—the single yellow light bulb, the wooden walls. It was claustrophobia to the extreme, but they didn't want to risk meeting outside. This room had a spell on it so that they could be screaming and no one outside could hear.

"Yes, but—" Greg took a deep breath. "You're not…" he let his breath out in one quick sigh. "Look… I can probably get a few people together. But—look. Eden, you're not going. You shouldn't even have been out yesterday."

_No! _Eden sprang to her feet. "No," she said aloud. She had to go. Because maybe, if she saved enough people from being killed by Titans, then it would make up for this she hadn't.

"It's ridiculous. We need you here. If they caught—"

Eden narrowed her eyes. Grey, like her grandmothers. Eden was the master of the intimidating glare. "You're not my dad, Greg." She shook her head. "And they'd never get me alive."

"You don't know."

The Hunter shook her had, pulling a small pill out of her pocket. It rested, innocently, on her palm. "They won't."

Silence echoed around the table, as everyone stared at the small object—easy to hide—that could take out a life in about a minute.

She didn't know if she'd be brave enough to swallow it, but it was always good to have a backup plan. Always have a way out.

"I don't like it," Greg muttered, but in a resigned tone that said he knew the Hunter would do whatever she wanted. And maybe there was a little more respect in his voice, too.

It was an endless power struggle. Because Eden wanted to make it clear; despite looking like a kid, she was the oldest, the most experienced fighter. She was the lieutenant, and they couldn't boss her around.

Greg pulled out a map. "So the next execution is in Pioneer Square. Peter, if you hijack a ship for the escape route…"

"Aye aye," The son of Poseidon nodded. Eden placed one finger on the map.

"If I take the flying shoes and lead some archers around here, we can get them from above."

"They should be coming through here, so if you guys go out down first and cut through the QFC…"

Despite being a thirty five year old mortal, everyone respected Greg. He had clear sight, and had known monsters since he had been able to talk.

And he played a killer game of chess.

O-o

"You know, for a granddaughter of Athena, you didn't get many brains." This wasn't the first time he had made this joke.

"Like you're brains are so good, Peter." Eden marched across the field, back to him.

"Maybe it's the incest thing. Sleeping with your grandpa is kind of—"

He didn't finish the sentence, because a foot flew out of the darkness and landed on his balls. An arm hit him in the stomach.

"Oof!" He took a step back.

"Don't you dare insult my mom, Peter." She could feel it building up again and, scared, she took a few steps back, not wanting to blow Peter up. "Don't you dare." She had gone so long without thinking of her mom, but Peter's words pulled her back so quickly. "You barely know her name. You don't have the right to talk about her."

He straightened. "Fuck you. It was a joke. You're not some authority, you know. I don't care who your dad is. You're not just with the Hunt anymore. You have to put up with us."

"I _put up _with you every day. I didn't say I liked it."

He laughed a little.

In truth, she was fine with him most days. Unless he made a stupid joke.

"And you know if you had said that in any other time period, I'd have to challenge you to a duel." Eden added, voice hard. "But I guess it wouldn't make much sense here. As much as it distresses me to say so, we actually need you."

**O-o**

**Because Peters is kind of a clueless fifteen year old with a crap sense of humor. Yeah. America is the only country where people don't murder each other over 'Yo Mama' jokes.**

**Kay: **Ok. I'll be delighted to.

**HallowedHalls: **Really? Aw. I'm sorry for your laptop, but I'm glad you liked it.

**Theia:** On Friday I logged on at 4 and off at 9. And it was easy to kill Thalia. I _always _kill Thalia. Even though I love her.

**Dancingvictoria: **why does the first one make everyone cry? I'm really curious here.

**Avenger: **Thanks :D

**Jared Evans: **Thanks!!!

**Tonycat: **Did you win?

**You Know Who: **He wasn't properly destroyed, so it was laughably easy.

**Fishpony: **Yes. Everyone does. That's why it's bad to be published young.

**Kanae: **Thanks!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**And we take a break from Eden for a bit to investigate one of the more interesting characters is the tale. I think I'm going to have 3 main POVs total: Eden, Lars, and someone else… *plays dramatic music* **

O-o

_"It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt."  
— __Abraham Lincoln_

O-o

Lars Kunhyi had been pleased with his seat at the table of Kronos's closest. The seat, he felt, had been a long time in coming. He had worked hard to get in good with the Titans, to work his way up. To break free of Athena's name and show that he wasn't just a proud smart-off like the rest of her children were. After all, he was _Lars, _and proud of it.

And now there he was, with a seat at the long table, just a few meters away from the Supreme Ruler of the Universe, who at the time had been making his decrees.

"They will thus abandon their system of dating, for these dates are based off a man who is not related to us and thus is of no importance." Kronos had said, banging his fist on the table for emphasis. "Instead of 2012, it will be year 0, the Year of our Titans."

A scribe pounded feverishly away on a laptop computer, twittering the message out to the world. Copies would also go out to _C-Span, CNN, _and _Fox. _Articles would be run in newspapers all over the world, and certain minions would go door to door to make sure everyone was aware.

"They may still have their silly little leadership elections, to do day-to-day tasks. However, if I do not like who is chose, they will be disposed of. All people are to offer sacrifices to the Titans every morning before breakfast, after breakfast, before lunch, after lunch, before and after their afternoon snacks, and before and after dinner. There will be three offerings during dessert—one when it is first made, in stores or in the kitchen, one before it is consumed, and one piece to be saved and offered up after."

There was a long pause, the only sound heard the one of the clicking keyboard.

"All chocolate will be specifically dedicated to me," he added.

"No!" Epimetheus, Titan of afterthought, scowled. "The chocolate is mine!"

"It is not!" Kronos stood. "As the Lord of the Titans, it will be mine, and mine alone. Now sit down." His eyes glowed a bright, brilliant gold, and Lars hunched over, not really in the mood to be blasted.

A chance to sit in this hall was worth the risk, though. High, arched ceilings lined with gold passed over their heads. And the table they were sitting at had a vague gold glimmer to it as well. A shame the other Titans couldn't go a couple minutes without trying to kill each other. It was a miracle they had united enough to win this war. Still, the less Kronos trusted his fellows, the more he would depend on Lars…

"Health care benefits will be canceled, and all insurance companies will refuse to pay for children with pre existing conditions. All children that were born with problems or developed them later on through no fault of their own will be left to suffer unless their parents can pay the full price for the care."

A pause.

"All people found loyal to the _gods _will be tortured for information about other god-worshippers, and then they will be fed to the monsters. There will be units of monsters and loyal half-bloods that will patrol the streets regularly, making sure everything is in order."

"And free of dog poop. I _hate _dog poop." Rhea murmured, examining one fingernail idly.

"Really? Personally, I find the aroma quite energizing." Epimetheus announced.

"Right." Kronos edged away from his fellow Titan. "Anything else?"

Well, yes. There was a matter of some concern. Lars hesitated, wondering if anyone else would bring it up. He looked from mortal lieutenant to lieutenant, all of which he knew had the same information as him. When they didn't speak, he raised his hand, and wondered if it would be the last thing he ever did. If it wasn't, those that didn't speak up were going to _suffer. _

"Well, what about rebel activity, Lord?"

A silence fell around the table. The scribe started to type the message, and then stopped, realizing they were no longer discussing laws. He closed down twitter.

"What about it?" Kronos's voice was frosty. "Kill them."

"But, uh…" he fidgeted nervously, and all her words came out in a rush. "See, as head of intelligence, I have been receiving all the, er, intelligence. And see when I was having a discussion with my, er, informers, the ones that give me the intelligence, they told me of some sort of resistance growing. And I was, er, wondering what we should do about it."

Kronos's golden eyes narrowed. "Please don't tell me you have been in my army for ten years and still don't know how to deal with a scrawny handful of rebels." There was fire in his voice, and Lars felt that he was lucky that he wasn't screaming in pain yet.

"It's the _nature _of the rebels, sir. Um, if you remember the Hunters of Artemis, you know, immortal girls that have, er, good aim with a bow and arrow and centuries of training and are, er, devoted to the goddess…"

"Many Hunters were killed in the Victorious Battle," Kronos said dismissively. "And if you are worried about my silly granddaughter Artemis, have no fear. She is well protected in her, ah, location.

"Well, yes. There are, at last count, only eight hunters alive. But see, they've gathered, like, a rebel unit. There have been sightings of Peter Johnson, son of Poseidon—"

"Poseidon has no other sons." Kronos said. "We killed Percy Jackson."

"Johnson was unclaimed, sir, living protected in Venice, Italy until he _was_ claimed shortly after the Temporary Setback Battle back in 2009—er, negative three, Year… Before Our Titans? After the gods promised to claim their kids? We only learned of his existence right after the Victorious Battle but didn't, er, want to trouble you with the information for, uh… he didn't seem to be a, um, threat. The extent of his powers are still unknown. Anyway. They seem to have a hideout somewhere, and can disappear easily."

"I'm still not seeing the big issue here." The Titan Lord said frostily. "Find them. Kill them."

"But we can't find them, and they are incredibly hard to kill. It's the lieutenant Hunter, sir, that is the biggest problem."

"She is dead. I watched her get blasted to pieces myself." Lars knew that Kronos hated being wrong, and he knew he was treading on thin ice by contradicting him. One misstep and he would drown.

"The _new _lieutenant. Name of Eden Emmerson. But she's not—ah, normal."

Kronos's golden eyes were burning. "Obviously not, if she has decided to spend the rest of her life with middle school girls."

All his worries over these rebels seemed laughable in the presence of the Titans. But he also knew if they turned out to be a problem, then Kronos would, of course, blame him. So he pressed on, though the sweat leaking through his hair and down his face probably didn't seem very manly or capable.

"No, it's that she… explodes, sir."

"Explodes," Atlas said sarcastically. "Really. Well, let her explode herself and be done." He turned to another lieutenant. "You. Heating pad. Now."

The lieutenant ran off, clearly offended, as this was normally a job given to a slave.

"You don't understand, Sir—sirs." Lars spluttered. "She can explode _things. _From what we are able to tell, it happens when she is angry and she doesn't have much control over it. Not like you guys do… um. But she can also… fight. She intentionally has tracked our soldiers down, instead of fleeing, as we would have expected such a small rebel group to do. Even when outnumbered."

"Well, if she has an interest in living, I highly doubt she'll attack _us._" Rhea said, still examining her nails. "Us Titans. They won't dare mess with our power directly. Let them send the mortals into a tizzy. It doesn't matter."

"That's the thing." Lars said quietly. "She doesn't seem to care if she dies—she seems hell bent on getting revenge on us, or something silly like that. Attacking you doesn't seem to be that far a stretch. She goes out of her way to attack us, even when hopelessly outnumbered. But we still haven't managed to kill her yet."

It was even more frustrating because she didn't even _look _like a threat. Only five and a half feet tall, and blonde. She looked like a teenager you might find in a mall somewhere—except for, of course, the bow and murderous expression.

"Fine." Kronos smiled, though not kindly. "I put _you _in charge of the hunt for this Emmerson lieutenant, Lars. Though killing her might not be wise, because clearly she falls into the category I mentioned earlier. The one about torturing to discover the whereabouts of other resistors. The responsibility rests on your shoulders alone."

This sounded like a curse disguised as a blessing. But this was power. This was what he always wanted. Lars thrust out his chest a little.

"Yes, sir. I will find her… and Johnson too. He is the one responsible for flooding your temple last week." Peter Johnson, Lars had thought, was a more worthy opponent than a fourteen-year-old girl. "I'll bring him to you too."

"Let's hope you do. Or it won't be good for you, now will it? Now all mortals, leave us."

As Lars hurried towards the door, he could clearly hear Epimetheus saying "…fine. You can have the Cadbury, but the Godiva is _mine._"

O-o

That, Lars thought angrily, had been nearly a year ago. And as Emmerson's threat grew, so did his job, and so did Kronos's anger.

"I don't see," the Titan Lord snapped at him, "why you haven't managed to catch her yet. I saw on _CNN _that she and another Hunter were sighted just in Seattle, a few miles from here." You knew things were serious if Kronos was personally involved. Normally he didn't care all that much about mortal goings on.

"They were." Lars kicked the throne room wall, hard. "And the hellhound Omega unit sent out an alert. But they escaped."

"And a security camera caught them hiding in an alleyway, while you all walked around _oblivious._"

Lars threw up his hands, trying not to completely lose his cool in front of a supremely powerful Titan. "She's had a hundred years of disguise training. They both just _ran, _and the hellhound unit was too dumb to find them. Then they fled the city."

"Meanwhile," The Titan continued, reclining on his throne, "their resistance has grown. The names _Eden Emmerson _and _Peter Johnson _and _Gregory Galdstrup _are known to almost all citizens. They should not question our reign, yet they are perfectly aware of a group that does. How does this inspire confidence in us?" He drummed his strong, thick fingers on the arm of his chair.

"It doesn't," Lars said quietly. "And I'm sorry. We will give it our full effort hereonout."

"You mean you hadn't been already?"

"I mean…" Lars gulped. "I mean that we will try even harder beginning now, Lord Kronos. We will find them and bring them to you."

The Lord of Time nodded, satisfied. "Do that."

Then he stopped.

"But don't," he said, clearly getting angry again, "do anything as _stupid _as bringing in the United States military."

"They got a few rebels, sir—"

"Yes. They got a few. Not as many as they should have, especially with former President Obama futzing around and dramatically lessening their impact. Also, have you heard what those rebels are _calling _themselves now?"

Of course he knew, but he hadn't felt it was necessary to inform Kronos of this. "The Olympians."

"Yes. And is it good to install this false idea in people—that the Olympians are still around, that that can still fight?"

Lars couldn't say that the name hadn't been smart. They were reminding everyone that the gods of Olympus still had support, even if Olympus itself had been crushed and the gods that ruled it locked away in separate prisons.

"No, it is not, sir." Lars bowed. "But if I may… sir… how strong is the security around the Evil Gods?"

Kronos tensed. "Why do you ask?"

"Well… we can never be to sure what the Olym—I mean, rebels will do, my Lord." Lars bowed again and fled the grand room. Just in time, because as he made his way down the hall, he heard the distinct sound of a chandelier exploding.

O-o

**Because you don't fail the Titan Lord if you can help it. It's a pretty bad idea. **

**Awsome-o: **with major K*? And what is that? It's a good idea, though, and a whole subplot was just born to this one. :-D IOU. (and, okay, I hate to say this, but are you aware you spelled 'awesome' wrong?)

**Tonycat—**Thanks.

**Moonrise—**heh. Heh. Okay. I'll go fix that.

**Fishpony—**frankly, 'yo mama' jokes tick me off. And there are going to be a lot. Like, Lars gets a personality.

**HallowedHalls: **Well, she can grow it back, but it hurts like hell and is a temporary inconvenience.

**Shiba: **Thanks!

**Kay**: The chap has been written for a few days before I posted it. So has this one**. **I wrote it last Sunday.

**Wisegirlindisguise: **thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**So I sent this to Sheva on Wednesday but haven't heard back from her, and so I'm going to post it. It she gives me lots of wise, insightful comments, then I will revise this chapter and send you all back to look again. Also, thanks to Erin, Theia and Tony for reading this chapter in advance, because I'm sure there are issues with it. **

**O-o**

_"It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew - _and so do I,_ thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, _and so did my parents_ - that there was all the difference in the world."  
— __J.K. Rowling__ (__Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince__)_

**O-o**

Eden had been a Hunter long before the heart rate monitor craze swept through. When she had first learned of America's obsession, she had laughed. It had seemed strange to be so set on how fast your heart was beating.

But there was one thing trainers should have included in their exercise list—anticipating a battle. Because surely she was far beyondher target range. It was hard to stay calm when she looked down the line of archers—Dawn, Willow, and four other non-hunter Olympians—and all she could see were dead bodies in their places.

"You okay?" She asked Gi, patting him on the nose. He snorted, tossing his black mane, as if to say _of course. _She wished she could talk to him like Peter could—she always felt as if she was missing something important. He whinnied softly.

Not sure what to do, she checked to make sure that her armor—the lightweight silver armor left from her days as a _real _Hunter—was all in place. Well, the whole breastplate. She didn't wear any on her arms and legs—it made it harder to move around and fire a bow.

A boat pulled up to the dock, on the waterfront behind them. Eden looked around again—with three pegasi they were hardly inconspicuous. But of course no one was on the street. On an execution day, most people were either at the execution or hiding in their homes.

Peter jumped from the boat, and raised a fist. All clear.

Eden checked her watch. Just in time. Two minutes to go, and the Mayor's Execution Committee was always very punctual.

_We're going to free them, _she whispered to herself. _We are. _And none of the Olympians were going to die.

Dawn's walkie talkie crackled. "Here," said Willow's disembodied voice. "He's getting up and listing crimes."

"Roger that." Dawn lowered the talkie. "Ready," she whispered to the archer unit. Everyone climbed onto the pegasi, and they lifted into the air, rising about thirty feet before alighting on top of one of the buildings that made up the walls of the new Execution Square.

The waterfront square had been designed by the Governor's Architectural Unit. Three stores—QFC, Macy's, and Barns and Noble— and one temple made up the sides, the thinking being that while they were shopping for clothes, books, food, and other basic things they would constantly be reminded of the need to make offerings to the Titans and the punishments if they didn't.

Eden slipped off Gi's back and walked carefully over to the edge of the building, where she looked down.

All average execution setup. The ornate wooden gallows in the middle of the square. The line of seven condemned. The monster guards. The crowd of sixty or seventy people, some even with picnic lunches on the wooden tables the Governor's Unit had so kindly provided for just this purpose. She had seen this several times, but it never failed to make her sick. Especially when she saw a kindergarten class in the mix.

But that was the Titan's plan, after all. Numb them to this stuff from a young age. So they don't care.

"You know what to do," The Eden said. Gi flicked his ears.

"…threw a carton of eggs at Lord Lars when he walked by…" the announcer was saying, his back to the Olympians on the roof. Facing him was a crowd of maybe eighty or ninety people, eagerly awaiting his next words. But they never got them, because Patrol the white pegasus shot down and kicked the gallows hard as he went by. The wood cracked, and a second swoop past sent them tumbling to the ground.

A year ago, lethal injection had been the common way to carry out a death sentence. Now it was a public affair.

Eden closed her eyes, telling her heart to slow down. _Calm. Calm. _She had been in so many fights before… yet she was always surprised at the intensity of the nerves that came before each one.

Many people screamed, and a dracaena shot at him. Patrol swerved, shooting back up out of range. A glowing white smear in a grey sky.

Time to rock 'n' roll.

"Load!" Eden ordered, pulling her bow off her shoulder. "Find your target monster." She waited about half a second for her team to do this. Then, "Fire!"

Seven arrows flew at various security monsters. _Avoid civilians, _Eden had said, and she could do nothing but hope the order would be followed.

If only the muscles in her stomach would loosen, so she could figure out what was going on.

_Thalia, _she told herself. _Remember Thalia. _

By some mistake, Dawn and Jason had both aimed at the same dracaena, hitting her in the neck and forehead. She started to crumble, but the rest of the monsters just looked mad. Eden sent hers a little late, nailing another snake woman. The arrow went through her eye, and, with a scream, she also started to dissolve. Her sword hit the stone ground with a _clang. _

One of the condemned—a boy who looked no older than sixteen—flinched as another Pegasus, Sugar, landed next to them.

"Get on!" Someone ran out of the crowd, shield covering her head. Willow.

_Willow, look o—_

One hellhound charged her. Eden could hear its heavy footfalls from the roof of the B&N building. Its eyes were wild, bloodthirsty.

"Hellhound!" Eden barked. "Fire at the hellhound!"

_Plunk. _The lieutenant's arrow led the small cluster, and she added one more at the end, effectively turning the giant black dog into a pincushion. It turned and roared.

"Target the head!" Dawn added, as the dog turned to lick at one that had merely scratched his butt. Another rain of arrows came down, and, with a howl, the dog flopped over onto his side. Eden's last arrow hit him in the neck.

Still, more security was charging Willow as she tried to defend the five condemned still awaiting a horse.

"We gotta go help her." Eden scrambled onto Gi's back. "Down there."

The Pegasus took off. Eden knocked an arrow, trying to take out the more dangerous monsters before they spat something nasty at her. She got at least one hit, but it didn't dissolve.

But her fear ebbed in the intensity of the fight. Now, she just had one mission: Help Willow. As a Hunter, it was her duty. The prisoners would be taken care of.

Gi landed with a _clop _next to the fallen gallows. In one practiced motion, Eden sprang off. Straightening, trying to look taller and more menacing, she turned to face the crowd.

The whole fight stopped for a moment as everyone stared at her. She walked forward slowly, strapping her shield to her arm, trying to look like _Hey, I'm marching into a fight. I might be about to die. You are all terrified of me. No biggie. _The worst thing she could do would be to look afraid.

The shield reflected the sun, and she realized that, if she stayed standing right _here, _she could use the light to her advantage, just like the window had done to her on Monday. If she could bounce the light into their eyes…

Almost as quickly as it had stopped, the fight started up again. Eden ducked as half a dozen manticore spikes flew over her head, smashing the windows of QFC. It took her a moment to find the culprit, standing in the crowd.

The crowd.

They were pushing and shoving to get out. A robotic camera flew over their heads, taping the chaos. Another came closer, focusing on her face, just far enough away that taking the time to smash it would be suicide.

"_Maia_!" 

Dawn fluttered past her, hacking at a flock of pigeons as she tried to keep them away from Sugar the Pegasus, who was loading a couple more condemned. The Hunter's sword was just a blur of bronze, and still, they were forcing her backwards. Eden looked at the manticore, then at the pigeons, before turning and firing at the latter. The manticore could be dealt with afterwards.

Pounding feet alerted them to Willow's presence. Her long, brown hair had come loose in the fight, and there was a scratch on her shoulder, but other than that she seemed fine. She and Dawn killed the last of the pigeons as Sugar left with the rest of the prisoners.

Dawn and Willow flew back to where the other five archers were still on the roof. Eden turned to follow when she felt it.

A presence—a person—behind her.

She wasn't sure how she knew where to move, but her instincts acted, and she spun around, blocking the sword that was just a foot from her head.

The wielder of the sword looked several inches taller than her, and his face was covered by a helmet.

His second thrust was straight to her neck, and she was forced to block using her shield. From behind, an arrow bounced off her armor, and she flinched. That would leave a bruise later. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dawn go after the shooter.

The person stabbed at her again, and she managed to snag it between her shield and her own sword, and twist it around. Nine times out of ten, this disarming technique worked.

This time, it didn't. Who the hell _was _this?

Eden swung around with her sword, aiming for his neck. Instead, she just hit the helmet. It went flying, going through the Macy's window and knocking over a mannequin.

Her attacker was younger than she had thought he would be—around eighteen, with brown hair and grey eyes she recognized.

"Traitor," she spat.

"To what? I don't remember ever changing sides."

"Your mom?" Eden ducked as his sword passed over where her head had been a second ago.

"What did she do for me?" He asked, face blank.

"Eden!" An arrow glided past, impaling a dracaena.

The Athena-traitor didn't seem to notice.

Eden sprang back as he swung again at her face, and she raised her sword to meet his. So far, she wasn't too worried… she could get out of this.

But as much as she hated to admit it, this person was good. Unnaturally so. She wondered what Kronos had done to him.

If she could only get to her bow... as it was, she didn't think she'd have time to put down her sword, get the bow, shoot, and pick the sword back up. Eden glanced back at the Macy's behind them, and then up at Willow and Dawn, the only archers left on the roof They were too busy trying to keep away Titan reinforcements…

Eden rammed at the man with her shield. He took a step back, and she made a dash for the broken window.

Using an abandoned shield—the monster that had carried it was probably dead—as a springboard, she launched herself into the air, curled into a ball mid-flight, and barely managing to go through the jagged hole without being stabbed by broken glass.

When jumping and flying, it was nice being a daughter of Zeus.

Landing, she took a moment to catalog her surroundings—the men's section, full of pants and button up shirts—before turning back towards the Square.

The Athena-traitor was charging the window too. Eden had just enough time to get her bow and fire. The arrow missed his face by less than an inch, tearing through his ear before landing on the pavement. He yelled in pain.

The Hunter refused to let herself feel sorry for him. She couldn't afford it. She couldn't afford any emotions or thoughts at all right now. That was the beauty of a fight. In order to survive, you had to turn off your mind and just stopped feeling, let your instincts do it all for you.

He dove through the window as well, more glass breaking when it hit his armor. Eden ducked behind the bargain rack, shooting another arrow blindly around one side. She didn't hear it hit land, and assumed it had been eaten by another clothes rack.

It was eerily quiet in the store, as it had been closed for the executions. There was nothing moving but a _Fox News _camera that had snuck in behind them. And—

With a yell, the Titan minion knocked over her refuge, stabbing down. Eden somersaulted between his legs, turned, and swung at his back, cutting one of the leather straps that held up the breastplate.

In a real battle, it was none of the fancy twirls and moves she had practiced at Camp Half-Blood, or taught at base. Not when you're fighting to the death. When you are trying, seriously trying, to injure the other person as much as possible, you always ended up swinging and stabbing, with no grace or style whatsoever.

The illuminated exit sign caught her eye. If she could get over there, she could get into the square, and fly up to the roof, to freedom…

She considered activating her sneakers, but on them, she could go about as fast as a butterfly. And the ceiling was too low to fly over his head. In a battle, the type that was going on outside, you were in almost more danger in the air because it was harder to defend yourself against projectiles from the ground.

Eden pivoted and made a dash for the door, but he lunged, knocking her over. She rolled away across the carpeted floor and into the men's underwear section before standing. Her first arrow got caught in a pair of boxers, but the second one found a home in the Traitor's shoulder.

"Gods fucking blood!" He roared, face twisting in pain. And yet he didn't stop his attack, simply switching his sword to his left hand.

"Who _are _you?" Eden demanded, ducking as he again tried to decapitate her. She took a swipe at his feet, and, though he jumped back, has ankle was nicked. Eden straightened back up just at the wrong moment, and received a long cut on her left arm.

It took a second for the pain to register, and she tried to hide the fact that it had at all. _Owwwwwwww. Ow. Ow. _

"I," the man said with obvious pride, despite the fact that he was fighting for his life in the Macy's underwear department and his ear was half missing, "am Lars Kunhyi, head of the Great Lord's Rebel Leader Obliteration Department."

"Really." Eden tried to sound bored, even as she both tried to block his attack and launch her own at the same time. "You mean he, like, wanted us dead enough to put his own name on the project, instead of saying it was some mortal leader?"

"Maybe. But what it comes down to, and all you should care about is that it's my job to capture you. He said specifically."

"Not kill?" Eden feinted left, and when he moved to block it, she stabbed at the left as hard as she could. It would have been fatal—would have ended the conversation right there—if he hadn't been able to block it, despite that his shield arm was still oozing blood.

"Maybe. No one would cry at your death."

She wasn't tired. That aching in her limbs was just caused by the pain in her arm, and nothing more… or so she told herself. Still, she wanted to get out of here quickly, because she was holding up their escape. Willow and Dawn were out there alone, and wouldn't go without her. Eden moved a little closer to the exit. _Come on, Eden. Explode something. _

But she couldn't. Couldn't make herself feel any of the energy, make herself feel even the tiniest bit magical.

_Thalia. Thalia. Artemis. Lydia. Robin. Lark. _Zoë_. Lydia liked to tell stories, always adding some weird twist to the fairy tales. Robin was the master of hide and seek, and liked to sneak ahead of us and jump out of the trees, acting exactly like ten year old. Which she was. Lark always shot first and asked questions later, much to Thalia and Zoë's eternal annoyance. And Thalia was… Thalia. And they're all gone now. _

She could make herself upset. But nothing came of it but grief, the tearing open of old wounds.

She and Lars were getting nowhere. They were too equal. The result would be death by a thousand little cuts. Eden eyed the display of briefs next to her. Could—

She reached out with her left hand, wincing as the motion tugged on the skin by the cut. But she managed to grab them and block Lars's sword at one time. She tossed the briefs—artfully decorated with Kronos's likeness—at his face.

"What—" he blinked, a little confused, and his eyes darted to the rack. Just as he looked away, Eden swung wildly at his hand, hitting the hilt of his sword.

It fell, hitting the floor with a muffled _thump._ She flipped her own sword over, so the blade faced down, and clubbed him in the head with the flat part. Once, twice. He teetered for a moment before falling face first into a stack of polar-bear-and-heart boxers.

Eden bolted for the exit. She should have checked to see if he was dead, but any second, Willow or Dawn could receive a life threatening injury… there was no time to think about what she had just done. It had become a fact of life; you had to hurt people in order to survive.

_Clunk. _The door opened, and she reentered the square. "_Maia!_" Bow loaded, shooting at any monster that dared come near her, she finally landed on the Macy's roof.

"Eden!" Dawn jumped up and down on the roof of the Barns and Noble on the other side of the square, waving her arms.

_Damnit. _Wrong building. Eden looked around, but couldn't think of a faster way to cross… she didn't want to try running on the pointed temple roof. At least she had chest armor, but her arms and legs were exposed. And her arm was dripping blood. The lieutenant loaded her bow. _"Maia!_" She cried again.

She flew as high as she could, out of range for most things, but she still kept alert for things that were… not normal.

As she got nearer, she saw the person lying next to Dawn, curled up in a ball and covered by a shield.

_No. No. Willow. No. _

She willed the shoes to go faster, but they couldn't. Wouldn't. It took at least a minute to get close enough to climb up the shingles.

"Where's everyone else?" Eden knelt next to Willow.

"I'm fine," she whispered, but Eden could see the manticore spike embedded in her side. "Really, I'm fine."

"Shut up, Stupid." Eden whispered. Not Willow. Not another one. They couldn't lose her… where was some ambrosia? Some bandages? Why didn't she carry anything _useful?_

"They're calling in Flight Unit Delta," Dawn said urgently. "They'll overtake us on the roof. We need to get out."

"Where's Gi?"

"Coming. He was dropping off Isis and Jason."

"What about the others?"

"Well… Patrol has a torn wing."

Eden paused, staring hard at Willow's side. She almost didn't want to ask—"What about Sugar?"

Dawn hesitated, looking down at the Square below them. Eden looked, too, and noticed what she had missed on her frenzied flight over—the body of a show white Pegasus, lying broken on the pavement.

It felt like she had been punched in the gut.

Sugar had two colts back at camp, but had wanted to go on this mission with Peter. She was his favorite. She loved apples, and loved sneaking up on people when they weren't looking and licking their ears. She could do a loop-the-loop and was proud of it…

One tear stabbed Eden's eye, but she ordered herself not to think about it. She couldn't. Not right now, not with Willow bleeding so much.

A shadow fell over them. Dawn drew her bow in alarm, but it was just Gi, doing a nervous dance as they loaded up Willow. Eden and Dawn climbed up after her, and he stomped his foot. Eden had seen him do that too many times.

"I know you don't want to have to take three," she hissed. "But it's kind of urgent." Already, the dark cloud that signified the arrival of the Flight Unit Delta was on the horizon. And last time they had fought Delta… two Olympians had died.

Gi snorted, looked at the frenzied crowd below them, whinnied in the direction of Sugar's body, and took off. Eden swung around backwards, prepared to shoot at anything that followed them.

The ordinary-looking boat had already set sail. Seconds after Gi landed on deck, there was a lurch, and started speeding forward at sixty miles an hour.

Peter ran towards them. "How…"

"Thanks for leaving without us," Dawn grumbled, helping Eden get Willow off Gi's back.

"We couldn't wait, there were monsters we didn't want tracking us. Gi, you better go below deck so they won't see you. Sugar, you—" he stopped, looking around. "Wait. Where is she?"

O-o

**Wow. Ten pages. Kudos to those that read all of them. **

**Also, because I wanted an excuse to drop out of script frenzy, and because lightning struck, I started a new nonfanfiction, which you can read at **http : // www .goodreads** .com /story/show/228882-nameless?chapter=1**

**Aw'some-o: **aw. How sad.

**HallowedHalls: **Yeah… yeah, the Titans have issues Epimetheus is considered to be kind of stupid, so…

**Fishpony: **yeah he's considered to be an idiot. Titan of afterthought.

**Theia: **Maybe. I still think it's Thea.

**Nico: **thanks

**Jared: **Luke died in the Last Olympian, which I'm going to say was in 2009. Though now that I think about it, it should have been in 2008, but whatever. So Luke is gone and Kronos isn't in his body anymore.

**Wisegirlindisguise: **yeah pretty much.

**Kay: **Thanks!

**Tony: **who's holding up the sky? Well… if you remember a certain line in the titans curse, that might give you a hint.

**You Know Who: **Or will it O_o

**Dancingvictoria: **Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**This is the subplot inspired by aw'some-o. So thank you!!! And also our third narrator. **

**O-o**

_Did you want to see me broken?  
Bowed head and lowered eyes?  
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.  
Weakened by my soulful cries._

_You may shoot me with your words,  
You may cut me with your eyes,  
You may kill me with your hatefulness,  
But still, like air, I'll rise._

--Maya Angelou

**O-o**

The rules were simple.

They call, you come.

They ask, you answer.

They want, you get.

They command, you obey.

You fail to comply with these rules, and you are punished. Badly. Twelve only been there a year, and already one slave, Seven, had been killed for continued disobedience. There were also whispers that poor Seven had refused to let Lord Lars into her pants, which just added to her list of crimes. And at one point, Three had been tortured and but then allowed to return to work. He refused to talk about the ordeal, but was now the most dedicated, efficient slave in the Kunhyi mansion.

So, terrified, Twelve obeyed.

And hated all of it with a passion. A hatred that a little over a year ago she hadn't thought she was capable of.

But a little over a year ago, she had signed up for photography and AP history for her junior year of high school. A little over a year ago, she had automatically assumed she would get the chance to begin her junior year, not to mention live out the rest of her life.

And a little over a year ago, the name on all her forms had been _Adrienne. _No one had called her that since she had been forcibly dragged out of math class, two days after the Titans made their presence known.

She hadn't known, until then, who her great grandmother was. And she was still furious that it mattered.

So she was distantly related to Nemesis. Why did that matter? She hadn't been fighting for the gods. She hadn't known the gods existed. Neither had her mother, who Twelve hadn't seen since that fateful morning in which she had run out the door, late for school, not dreaming that she'd never come back. A new slave had whispered that Twelve's mom was now a cook for Lieutenant Koehler, five miles and a world away.

Her dad, not having any horrid god blood in his veins, had been left behind. Maybe they had notified him of his family's fate, maybe not. Though by now, everyone probably knew the protocol. If you were a half-blood, you were either killed, imprisoned, or a rebel Olympian. If you were the descendent of a god, you were enslaved. Keep you away from society while putting you to good use.

Like cleaning.

Twelve grunted, pulling what was probably fifty pounds of blankets off Lord Lars's bed, just as Six rushed into the room.

"Hurry! He's going to be back in about three minutes."

_Damnit!_

Twelve tore the sheets off the bed. "Help me."

"What? Because you were being slow?" but Six grabbed another sheet and started to spread it out on the Queen-sized mattress once Twelve had moved the original away.

"He's such a slob," Twelve flicked some suspicious-looking gunk off his pillowcase.

"Shh!"

"Well, it's the truth."

"Don't say that stuff!" Six's blue eyes were wide. "He's going to be in such a bad mood."

Twelve snorted. "Because of a bed?"

"No!" Six was a month or so her junior, but Twelve often thought of her as the older one. She had been there longer. Six leaned in closer, so she was nearly breathing in the other girl's ear. "Fifteen said that the Olympians escaped."

Twelve took a couple steps back, covering her mouth with her hands. "Really?" It was little more than a whisper.

When Lord Lars ran out of his mansion an hour ago, fully armed and with a murderous expression, they had all known what was going on. And whenever he came back from these things, he always drank, either in joy or sadness. And then his dad would yell at whichever slave had given it to him, because Lars was still eighteen.

"I hope he's not hurt." Six smoothed the top blanket, then took a step back and nodded. "He's always so nas—I hate to see him suffer," she caught herself.

Twelve lowered her voice, and started to wash one of the windows. "Did he find… _her? _Or _him?_"

"No idea."

Lord Lars's room looked a little like Best Buy, with a 3D TV, half the movies ever made lining a shelf, iTouch, iPad, and Dell laptop charging on one of the tables. Twelve looked at the desktop, sitting so innocently in one corner of the room. She wanted nothing more than to go look up what had actually happened today…

…but of course that would be suicide. The slaves were kept away from the internet at all costs, in case they picked up some information or began relaying secrets to an outsider. After what had happened to Seven and Three, no one had dared do anything against the rules.

Six pulled out a bottle air freshener and sprayed up in the air, as if it were a warning shot from a gun, just as a loud bang echoed below them.

"He's back." Twelve whispered. And Lars always, always wanted his room to be clean by the time he returned.

Six grabbed the cleaning cart, and they both rushed out into the hallway. It was the kind that was more like a balcony, with a railing that looked down on a polished wooden floor two flights below. Lord Lars staggered across it, leaving muddy—or were they bloody?—footprints.

"Should we go downstairs?" Six whispered, peering over the railing. Twelve hesitated. She didn't really want—

Of course, no one gave a damn what she wanted. The servant bell rang. They looked at each other, resigned, before, abandoning the cleaning cart and hurrying downstairs.

The thick carpet practically oozed up between Twelve's bare toes. Slaves were forbidden from wearing shoes, because that way, Lord Lars would know if they'd been outside. And it was just another way to remind them that they were now the lowest level of citizen. Just like he had given them numbers instead of names.

"Hurry up!" He roared.

They went, bare feet pattering on the floor. The kitchen was on the other side of the room then the stairs. They could cross it relatively quickly, but it seemed a lot longer when Lord Lars was yelling at them to hurry.

When they got closer, Twelve froze, staring in shock.

His right ear was half missing, leaking blood. The edges were rough, and Twelve couldn't imagine how much that must hurt. It was as if there was just a big hole in the side of his head, surrounded by a small curl of flesh. A big lump disfigured his skull, and his sleeve was soaked.

"Don't just stand there!" He roared when he saw them. "Go get me a fuckin' bandage."

_How do we bandage that? _

It was hard to weigh the choices here. If they just bandaged the ear, he would suffer more. But if he suffered more, he would blame them. It might be safer just to…

"Maybe we should call a doct—" Six started.

Lars turned in the spinning chair so he was facing them. They were separated only by the kitchen island. It was his wall. His fortress.

"I _said,_" he squinted at the numbers embroidered on their shirts. "Six, go get me a goddamned _bandage. _And… and my father. Twelve, I want a…" he swayed for a minute, and his hand went to his head. He was breathing heavily, and Twelve suspected he was in a lot more pain than he tried to show. After all, crying wasn't a show of strength. "…I want… a Hershey bar."

Six ran off, and, a little nervous, Twelve hurried the two steps to the pantry to get the bar. Then she unwrapped it and broke up the squares, the way he liked it.

There was a small flame in the center of the kitchen island. Lars tossed one square into it. "Kronos."

The flame turned purple for a second, before reverting back to its normal orange. He reached for another, and then gasped quietly as it made his arm hurt.

"You." Lord Lars said shortly, and Twelve's heart sank. She knew what was coming, and walked to him as slowly as she dared before picking up a square of chocolate.

These were the times she hated him the most. When she didn't even feel like her own person. When she became aware of how far she had sunk, and how she no longer had a choice in anything. How what she wanted didn't affect anything. Ever. And how it wouldn't ever again. Until she was that old lady darning his socks or maybe until they decided she was no longer useful and—

_Calm. Calm, Twelve. _

She didn't even _think_ of herself as Adrienne. Not anymore. Because this girl, the one hand feeding Lord Lars Hershey squares, wasn't her. This was just slave #12. Not even a person.

Six reentered the kitchen, arms full of what was probably everything from Lord Lars's medicine cabinet, and an older man in tow.

The man looked like Lars, but with more grey hairs and brown eyes instead of grey. He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring, before heaving a dramatic sigh.

Twelve wasn't sure what Lars would do if his dad wasn't a doctor. He wouldn't want have to disgrace himself by showing injury to anyone else. She suspected it was Dr. Kunhyi's skill with battlefield injuries that originally caught Athena's attention.

Oh, why did she have to? Why had he even been born?

"Leave us, Six." The Doctor declared. Twelve hesitated.

"Stay." Lars snapped at her. She bowed a little, and placed another square on his tongue. He chewed slowly.

Dr. Kunhyi bent over his son's shoulder and began cleaning it out. "What made this?"

Lord Lars hissed in pain. "Arrow."

"This went pretty deep." He picked up a bottle and began dripping something in it. "How close range?"

"Five, six feet?"

His dad nodded, and rubbed some numbing cream on it. His voice was still matter-of-fact, as if he was making a list. "I'm going to have to put a couple stitches in here."

Lord Lars nodded grimly. "Chocolate."

Twelve fed him another square.

"What happened to your head?"

"Uh, she clubbed me in the side of it with the flat part of her sword…" Lars looked down at the table.

"How long were you unconscious?"

"I don't know. Ten minutes?" He gasped as the needle pierced his arm.

"Please tell me the 'she' wasn't—"

Lord Lars sighed, staring at the table. "It was."

His voice wasn't as angry as Twelve had expected it to be. There was certainly lots of anger there, but also a sadness. And fear. Worry. But it was hard to understand this abbreviated conversation. There was so much more being said that she didn't pick up on. Almost like they were speaking in code.

Dr. Kunhyi pressed his lips together. "Have you told _him?_"

"Not yet." Lars snapped. "And he's not going to find out."

His dad wrapped a white bandage around his arm and turned to his ear. "Were you able to injure her, at least?"

"Yeah." Lord Lars sounded a little satisfied about that. "Sliced her in the arm."

"You're just lucky that our Supreme Lord increased your rate of healing, or the blow to the head might have killed you. I did warn you, you know." Dr. Kunhyi's voice was still calm, but there was an undertone that Twelve didn't recognize.

This might have been a conversation they'd had before, because Lord Lars's face turned purple.

"You don't appreciate all this—what I've done for _you, _too?"

"I told you my position at the beginning. It hasn't changed." The doctor picked up a swab and moved to his ear.

Lord Lars slammed one hand on the table. "Get out of here."

"Your ear—"

"_I'll _deal with it. Get _out!_"

Twelve blinked. When Lord Lars was angry, slaves suffered. She took a step back.

Dr. Kunhyi shook his head, but went upstairs. Twelve could hear his door slam.

There was only one piece of chocolate left on the plate. Lord Lars pushed it into the fire as well.

"Kronos."

Then he turned. "Get me a beer."

Twelve hesitated. Dr. Kunhyi had forbidden the slaves from giving him alcohol. But this wasn't the best time to mention his dad. She got the beer. At his demand, she opened it for him a well.

"Leave." He ordered.

Not unhappy to oblige, Twelve did. And as she gently closed the kitchen door behind her, she thought she heard a sob.

But she must have been imagining it, because Lord Lars didn't cry.

**O-o**

**Hazel—ok**

**Wisegirlindisguise—OK. And it's not life threatening. **

**Fishpony—you're psychic **

**HallowedHalls—No, probably not. I mean, think if Blackjack died. **

**Theia—thanks. I'll fix it. **

**Tonycat—thanks!! **

**Sybretooth—well, here it is!  
**

**O-o**

**The next chapter is pretty short, but then it'll probably move ahead a few years. I'm not entirely sure yet. **


	7. Chapter 7

**So this one is shorter, and the next one will be too, and then it's going to move ahead a bit… yeah. Anyway. Not as much action, but hopefully it's good anyway. =)**

**And now, for our feature presentation: **

**O-o**

_"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light."  
— Helen Keller_

O-o

Eden crossed her legs, leaning up against one wall of the relatively small boat and holding her injured arm. The gentle rocking was lulling, almost hypnotic, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

"Swear on the river Styx." She muttered. "You won't reveal the location of camp or the identities of other rebels or our helpers. And won't look for loopholes."

"And if we don't?" One man asked.

Eden didn't even open her eyes. "Feel free to get off the boat. We'll pull over at the next dock."

"But then we'll be executed."

Sighing in irritation, she cracked one eyelid. "And what am I supposed to do about that? I wasn't the one that hit on Rhea."

"I didn't know it was her!"

"And what am I supposed to do about it?" She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be below deck, with Willow…

No one else raised any objections. They swore.

_Willow Willow Willow. _

Lydia had been, by far, their best healer. Now… Dawn did the best she could. But she sent Eden back up on deck when she started to get agitated, because she didn't trust her to stay in control.

Or so Eden interpreted it.

She closed her eyes again and tried to tune out the world.

O-o

When Eden Emmerson first had a real conversation with Thalia Grace, the lieutenant had just stormed away from camp in a huff. It was a week after she'd arrived.

No one knew for sure why, but it had been easy to guess. After all, she had been talking with Lydia.

In one hundred and twenty five years, Eden had never seen the Hunters so divided. They had always functioned like a unit, like one—sometimes fighting, yes, but always together, _working _together.

Maybe Zoë had been the cause of that. She had been glue. She had held them together, and without her, they were splitting. Eden had tried not to pick a side, tried not to get involved. Had just wanted it all to die down…

But Thalia had looked so alone, walking away. And Eden had made the split-second decision to follow her.

It had been so dark out, and most mortals would have long since crashed into a tree. Most people without a Hunter's instincts would have fallen by now. Eden kept her hand on her bow. The darkness was a prime place for monsters to lurk… it felt like she was spinning in the dark.

She had found Thalia a few minutes later, in a small clearing, shooting at a stump. _Thwack-thud. Thwack-thud. _

The moon came out from behind a cloud, lighting Thalia up in an unearthly light.

And as she stood there, Eden had been struck by how different they were. Thalia, tall, dark, in her black clothes. Eden, shorter, blonde, in the standard silver hunter's jacket. Thalia, fifteen. Eden, both fourteen and a hundred and forty years old.

If Thalia knew she was there, she ignored her, loading and shooting arrow after arrow. Eden had hesitated, not sure if she should speak or just go back to camp. But that was when her lieutenant turned around.

"What are you doing here?" Thalia demanded, putting her hands on her hips. Her eyebrows descended—an expression that would strike terror into the hearts of many mortals.

"Warding off monsters. If they smell two of us, they might get confused, and then they're easier to shoot." Eden took a couple steps forward.

Thalia's mouth twitched, as if there was a smile in there, trying to escape. "I highly doubt anyone would care if I was eaten."

Was that her problem? Eden shook her head. "Lydia doesn't hate you."

"News to me." But she could tell that Thalia was upset she'd let that slip out. Because even then, Eden knew that Thalia didn't do emotions. She was the cool, collected lieutenant and mortal hero. And, Eden realized, if no one was able to see into her mind, no one would be able to hurt her.

That stump was really going to be sore in the morning.

"Of course not. It's just that…" Eden paused, not knowing how much to say. She looked up at the moon—it was full tonight. As if Artemis was watching them. Maybe she was. "It's that… look. They don't dislike you. They don't hate you. And in a few years, they'll probably love you, once they accept that you're…" she stopped again, not knowing how much to say.

"I'm what?" Thalia demanded, looking at her again.

"That you're not Zoë," Eden said quietly, and when she said the name it was if a small piece of her heart broke off, going into freefall. Zoë. Zoë would know how to handle this. Two weeks ago, Zoë had been there, and—and that was two thousand years of life, gone in two weeks.

Thalia stared at her, eyes wide. Clearly that wasn't what she had expected her to say. "I'm… not… Zoë." There was a _duh _tone in her voice.

"Thalia…" Eden shook her head, sitting down in the damp grass. "Zoë was here for thousands of years. Only one Hunter has died since I joined up—" and the whole camp had been distraught for months… "—not including Bianca. And we barely knew Bianca." She swallowed. "But Zoë was always there. She was the one that bossed us around, the one that you knew would always stop and wait for you. She talked like she was from middle earth, when even _I _adjusted. She was just _Zoë_. And then out of the blue, you show up. No one in their right mind would say you're anything alike… we had no warning. One day we were waiting for Zoë and Bianca, the next, you were lieutenant. And we barely even _knew _you. And it's all so different." She smiled, just a tiny bit. "It's been decades. We don't like change."

Thalia shook her head. "I don't need to be lieutenant. I could just hunt."

Eden laughed a little, winding a strip of grass between her fingers. "Thalia, daughter of Zeus, taking orders?"

"You're a daughter of Zeus. You do fine."

"I manage." What Eden didn't tell her was that either she or Rio would have been the next lieutenant had Thalia not shown up. She had seen Thalia fight in capture the flag, and against the manticore. Thalia had risked her life to rescue Artemis, and Eden trusted her to lead them. Eden trusted _Artemis, _and her judgment, and she wasn't sure if she could trust her own.

Years later, that was still true.

_Did I make the right choice? _She wondered, resting her forehead against her knees. _Should I have just let them die? _

No. They had saved seven people. Surely… surely that was a good thing. They had lost Sugar, but they had saved lives.

Melody, daughter of Apollo and head healer, had kicked Eden out of the hospital because she was starting to spark. Being blown up was generally not considered to be god for patient recovery. Not to mention that it was full of all of Julie's friends and families, who, for reasons best known to themselves, wanted to hang out with a woman in labor.

If it had been any other time, or any other person lying injured in their makeshift hospital, Eden would have found this a little ironic; that death and life could exist in such close proximity.

_But Willow isn't going to die, _she reminded herself. _Of course not. _It wasn't a life threatening injury, after all. Just some sort of suspicious bite, and a sword wound. _Not life threatening. Right? _

_Damnit. _

The Hunters' 'cabin'—more of a cell, with it's cement walls and short bunk beds all crammed together—was too dark. Too dark and too tiny. Eden abandoned it for the field, despite the rain that was starting to come down.

She stopped at the archery range, and shot a few arrows at the target. It was hard to see, through the rain and the dark, but she heard the _thunk _as each one honed in on the bulls eye.

_Willow._

_Thunk. _

_Willow. _

_Thunk. _

_Willow. _

_Thunk. _

A stick broke behind her, and she turned, shaking her wet hair out of her face. "Hi, Greg."

"And what did the targets do to offend you?" Greg asked.

Eden snorted before nailing another target in the center. "You can say 'I told you so' now, if you want. But then I might kill you."

"Willow's not dead, Eden."

No. But she was badly injured in the hospital. Eden shivered as some rain went down the back of her neck. She was probably going to get a cold and then get, like, pneumonia or something. Then she wouldn't be able to kick anyone's ass for another two or three weeks.

She laughed a little, letting free another arrow. _Thunk. _

She didn't give a damn.

_Thunk. _

That was a lie.

_Thunk. _

Because if she couldn't fight,

_Thunk. _

The Titans might win.

_Thunk. _

And then how would she live with herself?

_Thunk. _

_So shape up, _she told herself. _You're lieutenant here. Act like it. _

_Thunk-thunk-thunk. _

"Those targets seem a little easy," Greg mused, staring at them.

"Maybe a little." Eden didn't laugh.

"Seems like we should make it harder. No monster stands still and lets you shoot it."

"True." She knew what he was up to, but she didn't call him on it.

"Maybe something like a tennis ball would be better." Greg wiped some water out of his eyes. "On a pendulum, maybe?

Eden sighed.

"Why look! The forges!" Greg pointed at the building next to them as if it hadn't been there for over a year but had merely just wandered by. "Let's go make a target. It _is _getting a little cold and wet out here." He marched purposefully towards it.

A shadow of a smile flitted across her face, and Eden followed.

O-o

**Also, I updated my Nameless Novel on Goodreads. You should all go and read it. Because you are all awesome. =) **

_**www(dot)goodreads(dot)com/story/show/228882-nameless **_

**OK, so I had a plan for how all this was going to play out, and then I realized—even if I only devote one chapter to each thing it's going to be really, really long, and some things might require two. So, question: ****do you guys want something longer with more detail and subplots, or something that is more to the point and shorter? **

**Moonrise—**Thanks! 12 should be interesting to write about. I'm working with her.

**You Know Who—**nah, he couldn't _what? _Now I'm really curious. O_o (I don't think he acts _that _much like Luke. But I don't know.)

**Kanae—**thanks

**Tonycat—**I hope so. I mean, I hate flat villains too.

**Sybretooth—**Lars is so power hungry it's not even funny. He wants to be in control. He wants to own the word, and that's one of the reasons the fight against Eden has now become more personal than political.

**Wisegirl—**I hope so. Her life kinda sucks right now. =( but yeah there's no space to be you.

**HallowedHalls—**you think I'd kill a viewpoint narrator the first time they appear? Even _I'm _not that bad. Though—well, I do know that several main characters _will _die. But yeah. And you can feel sorry for Lars. He deserves a little sympathy, but not much. More on him next chapter.

**Fishpony—**They sniffed her out.


	8. Chapter 8

"Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power."  
— Oscar Wilde

O-o

She had no right, Lars thought, glaring at the bottle. No right to hurt him, to _humiliate _him. Kronos had specifically said for him to kill her, and she had thrown underwear in his face.

He tipped the bottle back, taking another swallow. It was more bitter than it had been a few seconds ago.

Kronos would not find out about this. Lars had chased her as she ran away, terrified, and then she teleported. That would make the best argument, and it might make the Great Lord a little more lenient when he failed to get her.

By the next swallow, his head was feeling fuzzy. Lars glanced at the empty bottle next to him, and at the half empty one he was working on.

The granite counter top was nice and cold under his hands. He ran his fingertips along it, tracing the design.

Alcohol was supposed to make you forget. But Eden Emmerson's face was still swimming in his mind. He snarled at the image. _Leave me alone!_

He was going to kill her. He was going to catch her and torture her until she was pleading with him to just let her die already. Until she was totally under his control. And then he would find the most painful way possible to send her to hell, to punish her for what she had done to him. The image of her dead and bloody made him smile as he took another gulp of his Bud-light. No more stupid pranks for her. No more undermining his authority.

Once she had been dealt with, everyone would respect him. Even his dad couldn't deny how great it was. That was the problem- the doctor seemed to think that just because a group of stupid-ass rebels— that were so desperate that they were led by someone who was stuck as a fourteen year old— that they spoke for the masses. The masses were happy with the Titans, damnit! Lars pounded a fist on the counter top, wincing as it hurt his shoulder. _Happy happy happy. _

He sucked in his breath, trying to get the last few drops of beer. In theory, he could go get another... but he didn't want to stand up, and _fuck, _his arm and ear hurt.

The rest of the rebels didn't matter to him as much. Not anymore. All that mattered was that Emmerson got what she deserved.

"You're not getting away again, titansdamnit!" He slurred, flinging the bottle across the room. It broke with a satisfying crash as it hit the sink. "Not again."

O-o

"A show of force," Lars said a few weeks later, frowning at his army leaders. "Get the whole army out there. Show the _Olympians _how strong we are, how we'll be after them if they don't disperse. Maybe we can even draw them out."

"I don't think they'll come, sir," one lieutenant- what was his name? Vix? Yes, lieutenant Vix- said timidly. it reminded Lars of when he had spoken to Kronos a year ago, and he smiled, glad that he now commanded that type of power.

"And why not?" he asked, trying to sound as scathing as possible. After all, this was his domain.

The basement of his house was practically a Titan Headquarters for the ground. They were in an underground conference room, and, a level below them, were a row of unpleasant looking cells used to house prisoners. So far, they hadn't been used, and he was furious about it.

Vix pulled out a map and pointed to it with one long, skinny finger. "We've seen more rebel activity in this area, and there was a sighting of Peter Johnson in San Francisco."

Lars froze. "Frisco?" Nah. It was a coincidence.

"We think they may be setting up a base there, sir." Vix's eyes darted around the council chamber nervously, as though he expected something to jump out of the supply closet and eat him.

So far, the rebel activities in other states had been isolated incidents. But if this very organized _Olympian _group spread—to San Francisco? To other states, cities… that was not acceptable.

He remembered Kronos's words to him, and smiled. "I'm putting _you _in charge of keeping them from getting organized down there," Lars said. "They are not to end up with any form of hide out or armed force."

Meanwhile, he himself would continue tracking down the Seattle unit. But— "Is Emmerson with Johnson?"

"We don't know. We have no evidence that she is, and she isn't the type to hide."

True, that. "You!" Lars pointed at a slave walking by with some dirty dishes. "I need some coffee."

"Uh, yes, sir," The slave spluttered. Lars turned back to his lieutenants. "Make sure you keep the locals frightened as well." He paused. "We cannot, cannot have a repeat of what is happening here. I am entrusting California to you." He fixed the lieutenant with an icy glare, adequately terrifying him. Good.

Now.

"We will organize troops to march through the San Francisco area. Give enough notice that, if they are there, the rebels will attack." Vix would at least have a few pointers to start out—he should count himself lucky. Even thought it was just so that Lars could defend himself if Vix messed up.

O-o

When he went upstairs, he found his dad sitting at the kitchen island, being served lunch by one of the slaves.

Lars nodded in lieu of a greeting. "I want a steak sandwich." The slave went over to the fridge.

As Lars sat down on one of the polished wooden stools, a full page ad on the back of the _Seattle Times _caught his eye. He picked it up.

"Hey it says here there's a slave auction tomorrow." He commented, turning to his dad. "Do you think you can go replace #7?"

Lars had let his dad take over the slave situation. It had made him happy to think that he was accepting the New Way. And anyway, he had good taste. #7 aside, the slaves he had bought—#4 through 12—had been of excellent quality.

Dr. Kunhyi took a sip of water. "Sure. Any particulars?"

Well, preferably, one that looked like #7. She had been— well, it had been a pleasure to watch her go about her daily tasks. But thinking about her made him angry all over again. He needed to schedule a meeting with Ten, his new favorite. And _she _never refused. What happened to #7 had scared them all, he thought smugly. No one dared stand up to him now.

"Lars?" His dad prompted.

"Just… get a good one." His dad didn't know of his nightly exploits, and he wasn't going to tell him—though really, what could he do? Lars was perfectly in his rights. His dad would just get all moral and uptight and annoying about it.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Have I ever gotten you a _bad_ one?"

"Guess not."

"Have a maximum price?"

Lars shrugged. "Whatever. Seven hundred, eight hundred?" The very best slaves sometimes went for nine hundred.

It was an additional part of Kronos's plan: keep slaves relatively cheap—enough that most middle class people could afford one or two—so the general public would think of slave ownership as normal. So far, it was working.

"Okay. So. Anything interesting happen at the meeting?"

Just a new rebel base. _Damnit! _Lars shrugged. He needed a break. He needed to remind himself of the perks that came with his station. And he needed to solve the problem that thinking of Seven always caused.

"It sucked." He said bluntly, before leaving the room.

Time to go find Ten already.

He didn't know what it was about her that he like so much. Maybe the terrified, hating look in her eye as she surrendered. And that was far better then her being willing—it just reminded him of his power. Because he was Lars Kunhyi. He could make anyone do anything. And there was nothing they could do about it.

**O-o**

**Yeah he's a nasty creeper perv/drunk. And totally power hungry. So what else is new. Anyway.**

**So the verdict is to do a longer one with more subplots and time spent on the different things. Because it's probably going to cover about ten years, and so it might well be sixty-seventy chapters. Please don't murder me. But it took the gods ten years to beat the titans the first time. Anything shorter would be unrealistic. **

**Also, I just did a lot more elaborating on one of my subplots, and I really want to add that stuff. Heh heh. **

**Shrrgnien: **oh, shut up. XD After _this _one I'm retired. OK?

**Kay: **muchas gracias. Yeah. Willow's not dead, just injured. She's fine by the tine Lars starts yelling at poor Vix.

**Prints: **oops. Thanks. XD

**Moonrise: **I have no patience for super long chapters.

**Fishpony: **yay!

**God of the Computer: **I love your username.

**Tonycat: **No. Never. XD and I flamed that one story. It made me sick.

**Sybretooth: **thanks

**You Know Who: **Lars and Luke are not connected in any way. Lars is just the next brainwashed victim, who's name I got off some graffiti that scared the **** out of me and my friends in the 2nd grade. Since then it's been a creepier name to me. Also, Luke wasn't a power hungry asshole.

**Wisegirl: **yeah. They're needed for SOME character development, etc…

**also, I made a banner for TYOOT. You can see it at http:// .com /albums/q155/Cheezithepowerful/yearsofourtitans .jpg**

**(remove spaces)**


	9. Chapter 9

_"You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own."  
— __Jay Asher__ (__Thirteen Reasons Why__)_

_O-o_

Dear Thalia

Oh my gods. Oh my gods.

My head is still fuzzy from the shock. I can't—I don't even know she existed until today, when Connor Stoll showed up, having somehow managed to get his hands on the List of Dead Demigods. I think he was secretly hoping that Travis's name wasn't on it.

But it was. We already knew that. But… the other name was Elizabeth Johnston Galdstrup, daughter of Nemesis.

I didn't even know Greg was married.

From what we've been able to uncover, she was a cook for a little bit—I don't know why they killed her now. Maybe she wised off. Maybe to make a point. But— gods. Poor Greg. I can't help wondering if he has kids or siblings or… I really don't know anything about him. It just makes me wonder. People don't really know me either. I mean, your average person on the street. All they see is media-Eden. Vicious-Eden. Fighting-Eden. Fearless-Eden. _Strong_-Eden. And none of those are me.

What an odd world. No one knows anyone, when you get right down to it. No one, not even the Hunt, knows every last thing about me; for example, almost no one knows about my mom…

It's funny. Even after all the people I've lost, I don't know what to say to Greg. I mean, he already thought she was dead… maybe that's why he never said anything… and now she_ is_ dead and—

Maybe he writes letters to her, too.

Everyone at this camp has lost people. No matter how much it feels like it sometimes, we're not alone in that way. It's the most normal thing now. We should all be used to it—the deaths of people we love. And yet every time it hurts like… well, you would think there would be a limit on how many times your heart can be broken.I guess the alternative is to not care about anyone at all, but that seems bleak. Miserable. Yet… practical.

I need to get my—what was the phrase? Head in the game? Yeah. I can't think, because then I can't do what I need to. And yet if I _don't _think, I'm going to lose myself completely. Maybe that wouldn't be such a horrible thing.

For example, the march Lars staged on California. In my head, I knew that it was a plot. To pull us out. To crush all rebel activity in the area. But in my heart, I wanted to go. I wanted to go and rip their brains out and bash them on the rocks and send their dead bodies through a meat grinder. And it scared me a little bit. The intensity of that hate.

Because before, I was going to do something. I was going to go do something about it, and since I knew some revenge was soon, I didn't hate them quite as much. Now, Greg and Adam decided that we were going to sit and let them pass. Pretend there wasn't anything suspicious going on in the area. And I wanted to go more than ever.

What I hate the most about sitting doing nothing is it makes me think.

About people I've killed.

About people I haven't killed.

About people I didn't save.

Gods, Thalia. I miss you. There are still times I look around for you, to get your sign-off on an order. And then I want to curl up into a little ball and go die in a hole somewhere. But I can't… because that would be cheating. Quitting. And I don't quit. I started this and now… I'm going to see it through.

For all the other Elizabeth Galdstrups out there, who still have a chance. And for all the other Thalias.

But that's the other thing. There won't ever _be_ any other Thalias. Or any more Elizabeths.

You really do only live once… so I guess we have to make it count, don't we?

Yours,

Eden

January, 2013.

I refuse to call it 'year two.' I'm not giving into that. their 'year two' will be the last. It's _2013. _

**O-o**

**What is about you all and creeperevilpervs? I got more reviews last chapter than ever. Lol. **

**-anyway-**

**Moonrise—**Kunhyi? Apparently it's Greek for hunter. Because the translation for creeper was too long. XD

**HallowedHalls: **his dad doesn't know. And no one can tell him.

**Fishpony: **I'd hate to meet him. I really would.

**Dreamcatcher: **Thanks!!

**Jessie: **Thanks!! I feel kind of redundant saying 'thanks' over and over, but alas. Here's the update.

**Shrrgnien: **I _am _retired from fanfiction when I finish this. I _am, _goshdarnit!

**Tony: **I wanted him to have some sort of depth….

**Son of Poseidon: **what about it?

**Aventine: **He joined the Titan army early and was able to rise up through their ranks. Most halfbloods didn't, and the ones that were not on the titans side are either dead or in the resistance.

**Sybretooth: **IKR?

**Wisegirl: **well. He and his dad don't really get along…


	10. Chapter 10

**So I don't usually like doing 2 POVs in one chapter but they were both little short things that I wanted to include. **

_"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."  
— __e.e. cummings_

Greg drew a line from Seattle to Oregon with his laser pointer. "Look. If we sneak through Yakima we'll be able to get a couple dozen reps into Eugene."

"Are the forces there?" Eden frowned at the projected map. She hadn't heard much about rebel activity in Eugene, but—

"There's a satyr dwelling in the area that Grover Underwood made contact with. They're willing to let us stay there. There have been some cases of hate crimes against Titans in that area as well, so they may be stirred into action." Adam said, leafing through his intelligence reports.

"Mmm." Julie took a few seconds to make a note, typing away furiously. "So I can get... let's see." She tapped a key, switching screens. "We have four hundred and eleven swords in our possession. Two hundred and seventy six at this base. To set up one in Oregon we would need to find another armory. Now…" She leaned over and grabbed the laser pointer and pointed at a spot on the map. "The Titan's main armor stockpile is here."

"A little to the left," Adam said, as though to make sure no one forgot who was the head of intelligence there.

"And North about a millimeter," Eden said wisely. "And East another millimeter. Then move a nanometer to the—"

Adam scowled at her, and Greg groaned.

"Since this place is more heavily guarded," Julie continued, "we'd do better to intercept a truck as it travels."

"But then we'd only be able to do it once." Eden traced a knot in the wooden table. "They'd jack security way up."

"Yes… but if we play our cards right we can net more weapons by attacking different trucks all at once, at different points throughout the state. And if we collect a big enough force, later we might be able to take the whole warehouse. It's one of the bigger ones—it ferries armor to Titan troopers all across the country.

Peter frowned, leaning forward. "What about Canada?"

Eden blinked. "I don't think the Titans have extended much outside the US."

"Yet. As of now, everyone worldwide knows they are here but they haven't really changed much." Adam said.

"Yet…" Eden repeated, frowning. Maybe they could recruit foreign armies to help them—since their governments weren't as oppressed yet—but no, that wouldn't—

"Anyone else have any things of note to report?" Greg asked after a second.

Adam hesitated. "Well, I don't know if—there's been a lot more activity going on in San Francisco."

"We have a base there." Eden reminded him. _Duh there's more activity._

"No, I mean—so our scouts have reported more suspicious things going on around Mount Tam."

"Where's that?" Peter asked, wrinkling his forehead. "I know it's—"

"It's where Atlas—" Eden froze, a bel going off in her head.

Atlas.

She had seen him on TV just a few weeks ago. He was most definitely not holding up the sky anymore. And since the world hadn't been crushed—

"_He was really angry." _ _Thalia said. The firelight was reflected in her eyes, making the story seem a little spookier, a little more nerve wracking, even though they all knew how it ended—and who died. "He was laughing about how he was going to make all the Olympians take turns holding the sky."_

_"As if," Marisol rolled her eyes. "Ha."_

"_He totally deserves it." Willow's eyes narrowed, and all the Hunters sat in silence for a moment. Two moments._

"_Then what did he say?" Lydia whispered. Thalia hesitated a moment more before continuing. _

"_Nothing, really. Then Percy Jackson charged him." _

_Eden rolled her eyes. "And he's still alive?" _

"_Thanks to Artemis."_

_They didn't talk about the one that didn't make it. _

Her hand fell flat on the table, palms starting to sweat. Artemis. The sky. Artemis. Zeus. What if— what if he had made good on his threat? What if—

"Eden?" Greg leaned toward her from across the table. "Eden are you okay?"

She stared at him blankly. Okay? But—but what if it was _true? _She wasn't sure if she wanted it to be or not. On the one hand they might have a better chance of rescuing one of them. On the other, the thought of Artemis in that much pain—

"Eden?" Greg said a little louder. Peter waved a hand in front of her face. Automatically, she reached up and swatted it away.

"The gods," she said hoarsely, trying to convey her meaning without sounding like a total idiot. It was hard to put into words all the thoughts that were running through her head. "The sky. Maybe they—" but they wouldn't be that obvious about it, right? Not like 'oh here are some gods go save them.'

"Maybe they what?" Julie asked.

"Who's holding up the sky?" Eden said finally. She turned to Adam. "Adam, who's holding up the sky?"

"I don't—" He stopped, before uttering the dreaded phrase, but the damage was done.

"Maybe you can send someone scouting," Eden urged, knowing that he would love the opportunity to send 'his' scouts on an important mission. And having Adam on board made everything go more smoothly, even if it made her pride cringe. "Maybe they can figure out what's going on." _Where Artemis is. _

Greg nodded. "If it is—"

Adam thrust his chest out importantly. "I'll find out."

O-o

Fifteen held one finger out, wagging it as he moved it in a slow circle as he spin. "Can't read my, can't read my, no you can't read-uh my pooooooker face!"

"She's got me like nobody," Six giggled, leaning on Twelve's shoulder as she laughed.

"P-p-p-p-poker face p-p-poker face. _M-m-more._" Fifteen continued, doing a surprisingly good impersonation. "_M-m-more._" Then he stopped. "What's after that? Is it the _Russian roulette is not the same—"_

"I think that comes later." Twelve frowned. Fifteen shrugged, sitting back down on his bunk.

"Think that Lord Lars has Lady Gaga on his iPod?"

That set them all off again, even though they knew it was dangerous. Twelve flopped back onto her thin mattress, the wadded up shirt she used as a pillow.

"Well, duh." Ten said. "I bet he's got Miley Cyrus on there too. And Justin Beiber. And JoJo Kramer."

Fifteen stood again and walked into the space in the middle of the room. All the slave bunk beds were crammed against the wall, as Lars did not feel that they needed to be divided up by gender.

He put one hand under his chin as if it was a microphone. "_Yeah yeah yeahhhh_," he said in an exaggerated scratchy voice. "_Party in the USA." _Then he stopped. "I don't remember any more of that one. Hmm." He stroked his nonexistent beard in thought for a moment, then—

"_Ro ma, ro ma ma, ga ga, ooh la la…_" He then proceeded to dance to the first three verses.. "_I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a baaad romance…" _After a rather amusing hip thrust and a few high kicks, he stopped.

"Katy Perry." Nine suggested, snickering. Fifteen frowned at him.

"I didn't say I was taking requests. Someone else do one." He turned. "I think Six wants to do a dance."

"Oh, no. No no no." Six hid her head behind Twelve as Fifteen approached. "Twelve, save me."

"Sorry. He's like two feet shorter than me. I don't beat up little people."

"Hey!" Fifteen protested. "I am not _two feet _shorter."

Twelve leaned over, resting one elbow on her thin mattress. "Are so. And he's Asian. It could be interpreted as racism."

Fifteen grabbed onto Six's arm and dragged her out into the open space.

"I don't dance," she protested. "Or sing. And I don't remember any songs."

"You know all of _I'll Make a Man Out of You." _Twelve reminded her. Six scowled.

"Traitor!"

The whole thing had stemmed from an increasingly cruel discussion about what Lars had on the iPod that was always charging up in his room but that no one dared touch. It had been so _long _since they had heard any songs, which was why all of their were so abbreviated. But Fifteen had still managed to retain the moves. No one bothered to even call him gay anymore, especially since it was obvious he wasn't.

Twelve shrugged. "I speak nothing but the truth."

It was a good thing the slaves' room was in the basement and Lord Lars's on the third floor, otherwise they would probably be dead by now.

"Still. Traitor."

"We're _waiting,_" Fifteen sang, sitting down next to Twelve.

"Let's get down to business—" prompted Eight, though it was hard to tell between her giggles.

Six couldn't resist continuing. "To defeat. The huns." She even managed to pretend she was holding a long post. Twelve wondered how many times she had seen that movie.

She knew that in a few hours, Lars would wake up and demand breakfast. A piece of dust would appear somewhere for them to clean. The garden would need to be weeded. His armor polished. Ten would go cry into Twelve's shoulder. Three might scream in his sleep.

But right now, in their stolen hours while Lars slept, they were, in their own small way, free.

O-o

**I just didn't want to make her totally miserable all the time. They have their moments. **

**Kay—**yeah, it did, didn't it. XD

**Moonrise—**this one is shorter too. The next one won't be.

**Son of Poseidon—**K. Thanks!!

**Juliet—**yeah it is. Because even in the chapters from her POV she doesn't show that much emotion. She's scared to.

**You Know Who—**it depends. I touch on that later. Basically it's more your attitude. Like, if you fought for your cause for selfish reasons or not.

**Shrrgnien—**I don't know what about Thalia is so killable. I love her.

**Wisegirl—**I can! Really! Why doesn't anyone have faith? XD and thanks.

**Kal—**thanks! :D :D

**Jessie—**as you can see, none.

**Aventine—**I almost left that line out, actually.

**Dreamcatcher—**they were married.

**Fishpony-- ***mysterious smile* yes it did seem rather important to the story, didn't it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the wait. Last week was a total nightmare. Homework up the wazoo. And I have nothing written at all for the next chapter, so it might be a bit… : (**

**O-o**

"I don't want to die without any scars."  
— Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club)

**O-o**

As a general rule, eight hunters, sword bearing half-bloods, and three of America's Most Wanted were bound to attract attention as they traveled across the west coast. Eden squinted as she put in a brown contact lens, knowing that if they really wanted to prove who she was, she'd be a goner. And then they'd jack up security at Mount Tam so much—

She shook her head, trying to stay calm. They were going to be fine. NO one was going to give them away. She slipped on some sneakers with thicker soles, and donned a brown wig.

Greg was standing near the exit, face strained. Eden nodded at him as she pulled on an overlarge hoodie to conceal the thin mail coat she had on underneath.

No one spoke.

The tension was so thick that she was sure she could swim in it, it if she tried. And she couldn't let herself look around. Couldn't stare a group of people who might not make it home.

Dawn and Rio left the bunkers behind them and made their way across the wet grass.

"Well." Greg said, adjusting his shield once before turning it back into a metal ID tag. "Let's go."

The green grass of the field, the short buildings behind them, had never looked more inviting. Eden looked up at the sky, feeling the sun on her shoulders. What if—

"Remember—" Peter frowned, then stopped. "You know."

"The plan." Eden finished. They all knew it backwards, forwards, and sideways. In another hundred years she was sure she'd be able to recite it word for word.

Still.

She looked around, trying to memorize this image of camp, in case she didn't come back to it.

The sun was barely up, but it was, as always, full of activity. Guards were switching shifts, exhausted looking people dragging themselves back to their bunkers. A few young kids practiced sword fighting in the grass, and a sizeable crowd had collected to see them off. The sky was perfectly clear. Not a cloud for miles.

The satyr's sanctuary was large, but centuries of magic had enabled them to change it's appearance to outsiders. It wasn't that they couldn't see it, but more simply that it wasn't there. More recently they had charmed it so that you could only enter from a certain tree in the nature preserve, but could exit from several select ones that lined the area, marked with a small flags. So far, at least, this seemed to work, and it kept people from wandering out by mistake.

Eden placed both her palms on the rough bark of one of the trees, and took a deep breath before beginning the climb. Bark bit her palms. She could feel the enchantments tugging at her, not wanting to let her out. It was as if she was climbing through water. About ten feet up the trunk split off into two, and she squeezed through before dropping off the other side.

The bunkers, the training grounds, the archery range, the other Hunters all disappeared from behind her, and for a moment she was completely alone.

Until Peter landed next to her. "Come on."

She hated leaving the Hunters behind, but they all knew it would be hard to sneak a huge group out of the preserve all at once. And Lars would probably not expect her to go wandering around with a boy anyway…

She didn't really expect herself to either. Though she had gotten use to male presence in the last two years, it still felt—off. Weird.

Once they hit the main road, they made a big deal of talking and laughing, as did Dawn, Rio and Marisol behind them. Greg caught up with them when they reached the light rail station, and walked confidently up to the ticket counter.

"Three to Portland."

The woman eyed Eden and Peter suspiciously. "All yours?"

"Yep."

"ID?" Greg palmed over three fake ID cards. Eden concentrated on them, twisting the mist.

Unknown to many, it was still there. Since monsters and such had become a daily reality, however, it had crept back. Just waiting to be used by the next law-breaking halfblood. She could almost feel its relief at being recognized again.

The woman nodded and slid some tickets over the counter, seeming unaware that they had failed to pay. The Olympians thanked her and turned to mingle with the suitcase bearing crowd already waiting to get to Sea-Tac airport.

Eden's palms sweated steadily for the next fifteen minutes as the rest of their group slowly trickled in. She hated being separated. What if someone attacked some of them but since they were alone no one—

_Eden. Calm. _

The light rail station wasn't much to look at. A few benches, glass walls. She sat down stiffly, trying not to look nervous. _I'm just going to San Fran for fun. No biggie. Just… _She wanted to turn and talk to Rio, but they had arrived in separate parties, and if even one person noticed two strange girls talking and got suspicious—

_Shut up. Chill. Chill._

The train pulled up a couple agonizing minutes later, and they boarded. She felt a little safer once they were moving, farther away from the squinty ticket woman and closer and close to Sea-Tac airport. Of course, one they _got _to Sea-Tac it would be another story, but—

_You can fight. You can kill 'em all. Just chill, OK?_

Chill. Yeah. She could do that. Eden ran one finger along the soft fabric of her seat.

_Don't look around at the other passengers, they might get suspicious. Don't move quickly, they might hear your armor move. _

Why was it so much more terrifying to be here in disguise then just out on the street? Of course, here there was that little problem where they were trapped, shooting through Seattle at eighty or one hundred miles per hour, and—

It took a good twenty minutes to reach the airport, and once they stopped, they were surrounded by panic and chaos. Tearful farewells, shouts of hello, policemen trying to direct the incessant traffic.

"Security." Peter muttered. "Remember—"

"Yes." Eden snapped. "I know."

Sure enough, when they reached the security line, the bored looking man pointed them over to the pat-down only area. And yet the woman patting them down seemed to forget that she was supposed to do more then just stare at them for a few seconds, sure that she'd already patted them thoroughly.

Yes, Mist was a very nice thing. Especially since it was so overlooked these days that most people assumed it had died, faded out with the gods.

O-o

It wasn't until the first Titan War that Eden had ever really fought for her life. With the Hunters, it was usually twelve against one. And she had known that if she was hurt, the others would protect her during the fight and afterwards she would have time to heal. Only in her time had they lost Hunters—Maple, when they were ambushed shortly after Eden joined, and then, of course, Zoë.

Always Artemis had been there, ready to help them when she could and let them go if she couldn't. At the time, life had seemed far from easy, yet now it was as if in a dream world. The Garden of Eden—she had to smile a little as she thought that—or America in the 1990s. The calm before the storm.

Before the Hunters, there was her mom, ready to protect her, to keep her from the worst of the fights they bumped into.

But Eden tried not to think about her, because it hurt too damn much. And it made her angry. If Athena was the one waiting for them on Mount Tam she didn't think she'd be able to risk her life, and those of the Hunters to save her. If anyone deserved to hold the sky for a few centuries it was the goddess of battle. Or, as Eden thought of her, the goddess of anger and cheap tricks.

Ever since the war, Eden had been alone in the fights. In any of the circumstances where they might only be fighting one or two monsters, the Hunters couldn't afford to travel as a group.

Yet these deadly fights hadn't quite become normal yet. They never failed to make her palms sweat, her adrenaline charge.

Sometimes, though, waiting was worse.

The plane was so long, so narrow. A hundred and fifty people, all crammed into a tube. They couldn't even whisper for fear someone would guess who they were and report them.

Someone could have already.

But if anyone was already suspicious, there were no signs of it. Stewards stopped only to ask them if they wanted to pay ten dollars for a drink. The babble surrounding them was of nothing but everyday chatter. Who, what, when. Things—like jobs, boyfriends, school and monetary problems—that had no place in Eden's life.

It was hard to worry about smaller things when you were flying off to your death.

She told herself she was being stupid. Melodramatic. _Angsty. _

_You might die, yeah, _she mentally snapped. She had accepted it long ago. _You might die, but you aren't dead yet, are you? Focus on living. Stop obsessing about them. Mom. Thalia. You'll see them again at some point. But right now, you're alive, and you have a job to do. _

_You're the lieutenant, _she thought again. _You're the lieutenant. And you're _not _Thalia or Zoë. They've never been in this situation. You have all these memories that they don't. They never fought the Titans like _this. _You're not them. You're _you _and you have to shape up right now or else. _

If she could shoot arrows at the voices in her head—the ones that sounded strangely like Artemis—she would have. She would have ground them to a pulp. Except—they were right.

Still no sign of monsters on the plane, but her stomach felt like it was going to explode as they touched down in San Francisco. There was no way they could have made that flight and been undetected. But she even made herself nod at the stewardess as she left, walking down the tunnel to the gate.

Mentally, she tried to calculate the thickness of the siding. If there were monsters waiting for them at the gate, she might, _might _be able to blast through the corrugated wall, and they could—what? Run away down a runway? It might be a sign of her deteriorating mental state that the thought made her want to laugh. It was a _runway. _It was obviously made for running away. _Run away runway. Run away runway. _The corners of her mouth twitched.

Peter gave her a weird look. "Are you okay?"

"'Course." _Running away down a runway._

The problem with that plan was, of course, that they might easily be hit by an oncoming plane.

_Hey if planes are taking off shouldn't it be called a flyway? _

_Shut up, Eden. Seriously. Just. Shut. Up. _

The second voice in her head—the one that had just tried to give her a pep talk—was probably the only rational one. That was why it had taken charge. Because the first voice was still making her laugh quietly to herself, even though it wasn't that funny. Even though just a few minutes ago she was flipping out. She hadn't PMSed in over a hundred years, but maybe—

She stopped at the entrance to the gate, looking back and forth a couple times. No sign of monsters. She relaxed, just the tiniest bit.

The airport was busy enough that no one noticed a rather large group walking somewhat close together, and for that she was grateful. Maybe a little relieved. They had made it this far. They just had to go down one escalator and out some sliding front doors, then the first leg of their journey would be over.

_Run away on a runway. Runway for running away .Run away runway. _

She stepped on the moving stair, her mind getting into a rhythm. And maybe it wasn't that bad. It was easier then thinking. And the words were like a song, stuck in her head.

_Run away, runway. Run away, runway. Run away, runway. Run away—_

_Thalia?_

She blinked, zeroing in on the three girls standing near the coke machine, all of whom were watching the escalator. And yes, the girl in front had the short black hair, jacket, and even—

No way. Lieutenant band?

Her heart started to race. It couldn't be true. Of course it wasn't. Thalia was dead. But maybe she had survived, had come back waiting for them—

Wait.

Thalia was _dead. _Eden had seen her get blown to pieces herself. She had even heard Nico di Angelo confirm it, minutes before he was stabbed in the gut…

Eden concentrated hard, staring at the girl. Just as the escalator reached the midpoint, two things happened at once.

The first? Eden saw the flicker in the thick mist, saw the dracaena head underneath the Hunter disguise.

And the second: the dracaena saw the recognition in Eden's eyes and, faster than the Hunter would have thought possible, an arrow was fired, landing in the metal siding.

It was like a switch in Eden's mind had been flipped into lieutenant mode.

"Dawn!" Eden's bow jumped into her hands as if of it's own accord, and she fired once before the group behind her had realized anything was happening. The few in front of her turned around instantly. "Monitor the left. Hunters! Three dracaena on the right. Greg! To the door. Everybody _off!_"

There was a squeak behind her, and she turned, seeing to her horror a woman clutching a small child. How had she gotten mixed in with them?

"Don't worry." Eden said blandly, placing both hands flat on the railing. "They won't fire here once we're gone." And she pushed down hard, catapulting herself over.

"_It worked!_" one of the snake woman hissed in delight. "Your thoughtssss are on your fassse. You must be more sssubtle if you wish to stay in disguissse."

Really, if they had to pick a way to lure them out, they should have chosen something else, Eden thought. This one only made her more dangerous.

Seeing Thalia's face broke down a wall that she hadn't realized existed. Two years of pain, of missing, of loss came rushing out, all at once, and she could feel her skin start to tingle with the force of it.

"_Greg! Peter!_" She yelled. "_To the exit!"_

"Nott sssso fast. General Vix will be delight to sssee you." The Thalia-snake nodded towards the mass of retreating rebels, and one of her buddies went charging after them.

"Dawn!" Eden barked, half turning. As she did so, the dracaena jumped at her.

Hardly thinking about it—the motion had almost never been this easy—Eden pushed her hands out, as if to try and push her away. Just as Dawn's arrow bounced off the other monster's armor, a bang rattled the windows.

White light blasted out of Eden's palms, and the dracaena was flung backwards into the snack machine.

"Send General Vix my apologies. I'm busy today." Her voice was thick with rage.

The entire baggage area went silent as everyone turned.

Damnit. At least one of them probably knew who to call to get the entire Titan force out there. Just a reminder that she was one of the most wanted people, and that she could never let her guard down, never think she was safe, not even for a second.

But right now, she was feeling—crazed. The third dracaena took a step forward, taking off a hat, and Eden recognized Lydia's doppelganger.

_No! _

Before it could even get near her, she was also thrown away.

Eden felt as if she was at the center of a storm, and the urge to let it lose consumed her. The urge to _destroy. _She _was _a storm; she couldn't control if the lightning appeared, but only where it went.

Let Lars come out himself right now. Let _Kronos _waltz into the baggage area. She hadn't felt like this since—since moments after Thalia died. Whatever came up, she could take it. Alone, even.

_Bang! _The snack machine exploded, flinging cans everywhere. Ferd picked one up and stuck it in his pocket as he rushed out. A few of them burst on the tile floor, and the pepsi fizzled as it spread into a dark brown mass.

_Bang! _And there went one of the monsters, torn in two, exploding into yellow dust.

_Bang! _The glass wall of the airport shattered, leaving a sizeable hole for the rebels to escape through.

_ThaliaThaliaLydiaThaliaMomArtemisZoëThaliaMomLydiaLydiaThalia_

"Eden!" Greg's voice came to her, as if from far away. And then there he was, right next to her. "Behind!"

She turned to see a delegation of dracaena running towards them, swords out, seeming undeterred by what she had done to their kinsmen.

"Don't worry." Eden muttered, her voice raw. "I got them."

"Be careful. Don't over—"

_Bang! _ This time it was one of the stationary baggage claims, waiting for an airplane to use it. The mechanical parts inside it fizzled, rubbing together. A spark shot through, and though her haze Eden could smell burning rubber.

One of the leading Minions fired. Eden flicked one hand, and the arrow was knocked down, hitting the melting belt.

_Bang! _The aforementioned rubber detached from the claim, flying into the air.

She could hear the screams behind her, in front of her. All the civilians trying to go on vacation. She could her Marisol's voice, calling her, she could hear the steady release of arrows as the Hunters fired, backing up towards the door.

With one last deafening explosion, the monsters were knocked over. Eden took a step back, exhaustion catching up to her all at once, as if she had suddenly been run over by a truck.

Dawn caught her arm as she stumbled a little.

"Come on."

But the other Hunter's voice was a little wary, guarded. Eden turned and stared at her, but couldn't tell what she was thinking. Was she scared? Was that it? She looked behind her at all the panic and chaos she had caused, the people screaming, trying to stay away from the dissolving monsters.

Maybe the news was right.

Maybe Eden Emmerson was an evil, dangerous person.

O-o

**One of the longest chaps yet—like, 3000 words. Ah well. A lot of stuff happened. Note: The Hunters are in fact dead. That was just mist that made the dracaena look like that, so that they could see if people recognized them.**

**In other exciting news, I got a formspring! So… ask me random questions, I guess. Formspring . me / stormbrain . You can also do it anonymously… I assume most of you know how FS works? **

**Also, I made a banner for TYOOT. You can see it on the 'Titans section of my profile.**

**Mfinga: **Thanks! Everyone seems to like them…

**Ave: **well, you'll have to find out, won't you? XD Twelve, Six, Ten and Fifteen are the only important ones.

**Fishpony: **Hmm. I honestly never thought about that. Hmm.

**Wisegirl: **Well, I know I'll Make a Man out of You, so…

**Tony: **XD that might not be so bad…

**Moonrise: **Yes. She is.

**Kay: **tell me when you find out, m'kay?

**Shrr: **after this. After this.

**Dreamcatcher: **maybe. This plot is kind of important.


	12. Chapter 12

**So I wrote this on Saturday and am only posting it now. Sue me. x_x**

**O-o**

"Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them."  
— Oscar Wilde

**O-o**

The tears were the best part. There was nothing that made him feel more powerful, more accomplished. He was in control of her emotions, and wouldn't have it any other way. He watched one

He could vaguely hear voices out in the hall, but he ignored them. If there was a problem, he would tend to it in a minute. Right now, there were other matters at hand.

"Umph." He pressed Ten a little harder against the wall, finally making her squeak as her back dug into a picture frame. She was too quiet lately, which was getting annoying.

The voices drew a little closer. Loud, panicked. Lars frowned. Why weren't they down in the meeting room, awaiting his arrival? They only came _upstairs _if there was an emergency. The earth-shattering kind.

"I'll get him." Clearly his dad's voice. Before Lars could ponder as to what this meant, or put two and two together, his door was flung open.

"Lars—" His dad stopped abruptly. "Come out when you're done. It's urgent." The door was closed more gently, but not fast enough to keep Lars from hearing the whoops from his lieutenants.

So immature. At least his dad wasn't freaking out.

With a sigh, he pushed Ten away from him and began pulling his clothes back on. He'd probably have to look extra neat if he was to avoid the suspicious glares. What the hell were they doing in his house, anyway?

But his dad was the only one still out in the hall. Normally, he looked rather unintimidating, but now his mouth was pressed together in a thin like and it looked like his hair was standing on end.

OK. Maybe he _was _freaking out. It didn't matter. Lars's name was on the deed to this house, and Lars was the head of the rebel search, and Lars could do whatever the hell he wanted because he was a legal adult now anyway.

"What's going on? Why is everyone running and yelling in my house?" He emphasized the word _my _just a tiny bit, so that his dad would be reminded of that important fact.

"Come on." Dr. Kunhyi turned away from him and started walking down the marble stairs. Frowning, Lars followed.

"What's going on?" His dad shouldn't know more then he did.

"I'll get there."

"If everyone came _here _then it's probably important, dammit!" He sped up.

"Oh, it is."

Stupid, stupid man. Lars could just push him down the stairs right now. He would crack his head on the stone, and it would be easy to say that he had slipped. But, no. No one knew more about battle wounds, and it was fine to keep him around. Sometimes. Maybe. Usually. Ish. He didn't want to have to call for a doctor all the time.

His dad turned at the bottom of the stairs, walking rigidly into the TV room. He still hadn't said a word, much to his son's annoyance. It was hard to tell how much trouble he was in.

_How much trouble you're in? That makes it sound like you're seven. You're almost twenty, you've already made more of yourself then _he _ever did… you aren't scared of him. There's nothing he can do to you anyway._

Straightening a little, he sauntered into the room and sat down on an armchair. He put his feet on the coffee table and folded his hands behind his head, trying to look as arrogant and condescending as possible. Dr. Kunhyi sat down across from him and crossed his arms.

"So," Lars began again. "What happened?"

"What the _hell?_" his dad looked—furious. Disgusted. Lars mentally scowled at the guilt shifting in his stomach.

"Dude. Who peed in your cereal?" Lars made a show of rolling his eyes.

His dad wasn't amused. "What the hell, Lars."

"What the hell what?"

"How long have you been—Titans. I thought I raised you to be above that stuff."

Lars scowled. "_You? You _raised me to be who I am?"

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "To be quite honest, Lars, I like to think I didn't."

The soft carpeting muffled the sound of his feet as he sprang up. "What's that supposed to mean?" Lars yelled. "That what? That you don't appreciate living here? That you don't appreciate what I did? For you, for the _world?_ That you seriously care if I bang up _my _slave?"

His dad stood too, but Lars still had several inches on him. "I'm just disappointed in you right now." he was still staying civil, noncommittal. Lars hated it. He wanted a good excuse to fly off the handle.

And yet.

That line should have stopped hurting when he was eleven, but it hadn't. Lars turned away from him and glared at a broken sword hanging on one wall. A small card under it identified it as the one used by Luke Castellan before he fell.

Luke Castellan, Lars thought, was a total failure. Someone that he would be sure not to replicate.

"So." He said stiffly. "What was the big ruckus."

"You might have to get them to tell you." Dr. Kunhyi's voice was still icy, as if he wished Lars were still young so he could send him to his room or give him a spanking. "All I caught was something about Emmerson blowing up the San Francisco airport."

Lars spun back around. "Emmerson _what?_"

O-o

Either the San Francisco Olympian hideout had cleaned up for their arrival, or the Seattle base was just messy. Here, there were no loose papers floating around the council room, no baby trees growing in the practice field.

Everyone was standing by the entrance tree, waiting to welcome them—so many that, for a moment, Eden suspected an ambush. A projected TV on the wall of one crumbling, cement building showed a repeated video of Eden in the airport. There was probably a reporter running commentary, but Eden herself was too far away to hear it.

_Am I really that terrifying? _She wondered, staring at the unfamiliar expression. She looked—unbalanced. Crazy. Like… well, not normal. Not like herself, but like some sort of killing droid. Like a supernatural being. Not Eden.

Perhaps it was because of the clips that everyone seemed wary of her. Even Clarisse la Rue, known for her general fearlessness, was hesitant to shake her hand for fear of being zapped. Or maybe it was just Clarisse being Clarisse, and shaking hands was to her a chore best left to someone else.

"Come on." The daughter of Ares lead the Seattleites away from the curious group and towards a small building, but she stopped when she got near it. "Is anyone hurt?' Her voice was flatter then the Arizona desert.

Anyone hurt? Eden spread her fingers, feeling the tension still in her skin, as if it were waiting for the slightest provocation to burst. God. She knew, in theory, that it could be useful, could be more like a gift, blah blah blah. But most of the time it either abandoned her or went out of control.

"I don't think so," she said finally, realizing Clarisse was still waiting for an answer. She looked around at her party.

"Okay." Clarisse paused outside a building with _Big Cheeses Only _scrawled on the wooden door in white chalk. The whole camp, Eden noted, despite it's neatness seemed to be falling apart. The evenly spaced, grey cement buildings looked unnatural against the green grass and forest behind it. Clarisse didn't even go inside the building, but turned to face them.

"Hermes is there right now, but we never know when they're going to change. It could be a week, or a month, or longer. We've been watching them, as you know, for six months now. They have changed seven times. Hermes has already been there about four weeks."

The lack of emotion in her voice—as if she was reciting a speech for school—surprised the Hunter, who remembered, three years ago, watching Clarisse drag the drakon around New York City. It was hard to believe that girl—woman? She was nearly twenty one—was the same one standing in front of her.

Then again, Clarisse had nearly run out of things to defend.

O-o

The Garden of the Hesperides had a young, greener look—thin sprouts over black, charred dirt—that made it look as though it was healing from damage done to it a couple years ago. Even Hera's apple tree, now a stump, had a wisp of green coming out the top.

Eden swallowed, trying to contain her rage. What she wouldn't give to have seen it at it's prime. It had sounded so beautiful, with the flowers, and the singing…

Now there wasn't any singing, either.

She wondered what they had done to the nymphs, Zoë's sisters. And to Ladon the dragon. But she didn't have time to feel bad for them. She didn't want to waste valuable sanity wondering, for they weren't much use as fighters. And they were Atals's daughters, likely protected. Zoë had told her too many stories, and her view of them wasn't favorable.

Zoë.

Eden looked up at the consolation, then touched the lieutenant band on her forehead. Just five years ago, Zoë had stood here, going to rescue Artemis. If she could do it, Eden could.

Of course, Zoë had died here but—no, she couldn't think about that now.

Eden checked the sky again, half afraid the stars had disappeared. They hadn't. _Help, Zoë… _She followed Clarisse down the narrow path, mist pressing at her on all sides. Was this what a blind person felt like? It was too much like the escalator situation for her liking, being forced to walk two-by-two down the narrow path. She kept her bow loaded, ready to fire if she heard so much as an unusual footstep.

But it was only the steps of those in front of and behind her that she could hear. After long minutes, the fog started to clear, and she was able to make out a vague human form atop the mountain.

It could be Hermes, but maybe it wasn't—maybe it was a trap, a disguise, an ambush. The possibilities, really, were endless. But as she got closer she wondered if an attack would have been preferable to this.

She hadn't seen Hermes much, but she remembered how he had always looked—cheerful, daring, with a glint in his eye. And if Eden hadn't known, in theory, who this was, she wouldn't have recognized him. He didn't even look—alive—anymore. His face was blank and unresponsive, and his muscles were trembling.

Gods shouldn't look like that.

It was like the first time she had seen her mother cry. There were some things that went with certain people. Parents didn't cry, because parents were strong. And gods—gods were gods. They shouldn't feel pain.

"Well." Clarisse sat down on a boulder and took out a power bar. "We're here."

Yes. They were there, and there were no sentries or anything around. After all, no one could free Hermes, so what was the point in guarding him?

"Who's here?" Hermes turned his head a couple inches in either direction, but couldn't get the group into his line of sight.

"Us," Clarisse said blandly, mouth full of Luna bar.

Eden walked around so she was standing in front of the god. He frowned at her.

"Do I know you?" Even his voice was strained, thinner then it once was.

"Doubtful." It was surreal to finally be able to speak with a god. It had been so long. "I'm Eden."

"Eden… oh, I sort of know who you are." He amended. "Hunter."

"Yes."

"Titan, now, right?"

She narrowed her eyes, offended. Did he really think so little of her? "We're trying to get you out of here."

Despite the situation, he was still a god, and Eden knew he knew when he was being bullshitted. He seemed appeased at her statement.

"How do you plan to do that?"

Before Eden could answer, Dawn drifted up next to her.

"Hi," she said, seeming nervous, "Dad."

"Dawn." Hermes nodded a fraction of an inch.

"Eden!" Marisol waved her over. "C'mere."

"Thanks for visiting," the god grumbled as Eden turned away. She hesitated, glancing around the barren, rocky landscape again.

"When do you switch? Do you know?"

"No idea." He shifted his weight a little. "I'da told the spies that have been hanging out here."

Right.

Eden hurried back towards where the others were waiting.

This could take awhile.

The plan was just to have scouts ready at all times. When the next god and the guard appeared, there would be a moment when that second god had taken the sky and Hermes would be standing away from the minion. That was when they would shoot.

Still. The lieutenant stared around at the barren mountaintop, the black rocks, and thought about how long two weeks like this could be.

O-o

**Juliet: **Actually reviewing is nice. x_x lol. Yeah, Eden can be smug. It's not good for her.

**Lion: **Thanks! I'll work on that, k?

**Kay: **You are going to keep reading. Sorry. :P

**Fish: **Thanks! I wasn't sure how they'd figure her out and that seemed like the best way.

**Tony: **Thanks! : ) I liked it.

**Wisegirl: **I have two completed novel-length ones and a ton of short stories. None of them are about mythology.

**The Tester: **Gracias

**Moonrise: **I do very few cliffies. I don't like them.

**Shrrgnien: **I WILL

**You Know Who: **Yes. You did. XD

**Mindreadingweirdo: **I love your penname.


	13. Chapter 13

**So, I think people are getting Ten and Twelve confused. So, just to clarify:**

_**Twelve: **_**is the viewpoint slave. Lars has never mentioned her by name.  
**_**Ten: **_**is the one Lars has a thing for. **

_**Six: **_**Is Twelve's best friend  
**_**Fifteen: **_**Is the short Asian one who was doing the Lady Gaga dance. **

**Though this chapter should hopefully make it more clear. Why I gave them both T names I don't know, but I hadn't intended Ten to be a main character before and so I picked a number that was easy to remember. Anyway. Hope that clears some stuff up.**

**O-o**

"_People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life."  
_- Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

**O-o**

Twelve pressed the knife against the defenseless carrot, splitting it neatly down the middle. Her knife bit into its hard flesh with a crunch, and the two halves fell away from each other, rolling back and forth a little on the curved sides. She flipped them over and split each half again before starting to shred the rest.

"Hurry up over there." Fifty Seven snapped. Lars didn't actually have fifty seven slaves, but he had named her this to make fun of her age. Twelve knew Fifty Seven was really just in her forties, but she could cook, and did it well, which was presumably the only reason Lars kept her around.

"He likes them finely chopped," Twelve protested. "If he can bite it—"

"I'm well aware of how Lord Lars takes the vegetables in his soup, Twelve. But we have a time constraint here. He wanted soup and I had to go get more supplies."

Of course. That was why she had been called in here, when normally she avoided the kitchen as best she could. There was nothing quite as tedious as chopping up endless amounts of food, and she was never trusted to do anything more than that. All it would take would be one ill-flavored meal to have a few heads roll. She wasn't sure which was worse—lunch being late or lunch being bad. Both involved being hit with something heavy.

The door to the kitchen squeaked as someone opened it.

"Lord Lars wants lunch for the entire council," said a quiet voice behind them.

"Heya, Ten." Twelve finished carefully shredding her carrot and started on a new one. "Sup?"

"Get a knife," Fifty Seven ordered. "If we're making soup for eleven people, we're going to need a helluvalot more carrots."

Ten's hand trembled as she picked one up, before joining Twelve at the cutting board.

Twelve bit her lip, alarm bells going off. She hadn't seen Ten all morning. She had gone to deliver breakfast and disappeared. That meant… Are you okay?"

"It's fine." Ten stabbed her poor carrot harder than was necessary.

"The hell it is."

Ten turned and glared up at her. "It's _fine. _It doesn't even h—it doesn't matter anymore."

_The hell it doesn't, _Twelve thought again, putting down her knife. She stared at the orange remains. _You're making his food. You're making the fucking guy's food. _

But they didn't have a choice.

Whenever Ten was like this, Twelve automatically cataloged the differences in their appearances. It was a horrible thing to do, and yet comforting—Ten's straight, red-blonde hair to her own curly brown, Ten, only five foot two and Twelve at five-nine. It was terrible to think that way, and yet—and yet. There were times when all she _could _think was _I'm so glad it's not me. _And that was so… selfish. Nasty. Uncaring. But—

"I thought he was at a meeting. A ton of people showed up."

"He is now."

"What—"

Ten shook her head, and Twelve fell silent, afraid of intruding on Forbidden Territory. They worked in silence for several minutes, the only sound the steady thudding of knives on wood and the ticking of the clock.

"Damn. I didn't get enough meat." Fifty Seven turned the burner down, oblivious to their quiet conversation. "Don't burn anything. Take the soup off if the timer beeps."

"Okay," Ten whispered.

The door squeaked again as the older slave left.

Twelve methodically cut up several more carrots before moving on to the celery. Finally, Ten spoke.

"He thinks I told his dad."

It was like she had missed a step going down the great marble stairs, the way her stomach knotted. Fear grabbed her by the arm. _Ten. _They couldn't lose Ten. But if Lars thought—

"What?" She finally managed, gasping for air.

"Dr. Kunhyi… showed up, with the lieutenants, and he's accusing me of telling."

Twelve dropped the knife again and squeezed her eyes shut. That could mean all sorts of things, and none of them were good. Because if he was really convinced—slaves had been killed for less.

"You'll be okay, though, right?"

Ten shrugged— barely a twitch of the shoulder. "Whatever. I don't really care."

"You need to get out." She had tried to figure out how to run away many times before, but had never found a plausible way. Not with the electrical ankle bracelet they all wore, the one that Lars could use to zap them if they were doing something wrong. All it would take would be the press of a button, a strong enough level, and . But maybe there was a way of cutting it off, or, at worst, a life with only one foot was better then a life dead, right?

"I can't."

"Can't leave?" The reality of it was crushing. Intellectually, she knew she could never find a way out. But she just wanted to keep looking, even though after two years she should know better. "I know. But we might be able to—"

"I mean I _can't._" Ten guillotined her celery, and Twelve wondered what was going on in her mind. "I mean… I just can't. Because then it could be anyone. He'd like someone else. Six. Eleven. You."

It was true. But— "You're staying for _that?_"

"It's never going to go away, Twelve. It doesn't matter if I physically escape or not, I'm always going to be trapped here. So, it doesn't matter anymore. He can do whatever he wants. And since—well, it's like, I'm already stuck, and so there's no point in messing anyone else up. When you have two copies of a book, and one is new and the other is falling apart, which one do you use more?"

"You're not a falling-apart book. You're a person." Her stomach was hurting. She didn't want to hear all this. Partly because Ten sounded so… defeated. And partly because in one tiny corner of her mind, she might agree.

Ten scraped the celery into the pot. "I'm not a person. Not legally. Neither are you."

She couldn't argue with that one. It was true. But… "The Olympians might win. Maybe we'll get out." They had to. It was their only chance. But what would the Olympians care, anyway? They were just slaves. They were more likely to be held and tortured for their connection to Lars.

No. No, it was going to work out. It was going to be OK. She glanced around the small kitchen, that seemed rather out of proportion with his colossal house, wondering if there was a magic trap door.

"Did you ever play Cinderella when you were little?" Ten asked quietly.

"Yeah." She had sat in one spot on the floor with the dishcloth, swinging it back and forth, and singing that song—she couldn't remember it anymore. Nightingale?

And now it just seemed like she had been preparing for her role, reconciling herself to a life of housework. Conditioned from a young age. The idea that she had ever played servant made her feel a little sick. If she had known…

"It's all bullshit." There was a venom Ten's voice that was surprising; Twelve had thought it long gone. "They're trying to teach kids that yeah, life might suck for you now, but be beautiful and lovely and your fairy godmother will appear and give you a pretty dress and you'll go meet your prince and he'll save you."

"It's a fairy tale."

"And it's _bullshit._" Ten rubbed her eyes furiously with the back of her hand. "There's no such thing as a happily-ever-after. Why even tell kids that there usually is?"

Twelve sighed, glancing at the timer. Three minutes until the soup came off. "You never know."

"There's no frikkin fairy godmothers coming to save us. There is no prince. And you want to know why the Titans endorse the Disney movies?"

She hadn't really thought about it. "Why?"

"Because Cinderella just waits. _Some day my prince will come. _She never lifts a finger to help herself. She just sits and… and _waits. _And that's what they're teaching us. To wait for rescue." She rubbed another tear away. "But there's no rescue for us. There is no godmother. There is no ball."

"What did he do to you, Ten?" Twelve looked away, staring at the floor. She knew— of course she knew. But Ten had never been this, well, bitter before. She was starting to sound like— like she was—but no. No.

It was hard, comparing this Ten to the one that had first arrived. Then, she had been rebelling against it all. She had cataloged the available cooking ingredients to see if she could make something toxic. She had pushed the limits as far as they would go. But then when Seven was killed, and Lars had started looking at her instead…

At first she was angry. She would plot revenge. She would try and kill everyone and everything. Then she had acted as if it was all normal. But this… this was so much worse.

And Twelve had no idea what to do. It was at times like these that she missed her mother the most. Someone she could go to. Someone who, if nothing else, could let her cry.

Ten shook her head again, before leaning her elbows on the counter and hiding her face in her arms.

"I don't want to die."

"But…" Twelve put on hand on her back, hesitantly. Ten twitched, just a bit, and the other slave sprang back. "He might not kill you."

"He will, eventually. Maybe not now. Maybe not for years. But once we get older and less useful he's going to kill us."

If they were too useless to resell, yes. But it was still far enough off that she couldn't take that seriously, couldn't obsess over it now.

"And…" Ten looked up, eyes shiny with tears. "I… I was Katrina Freedman, you know? I was _me_. And now I'm not."

"Yeah." Twelve thought of the Senior year that she should have been enjoying right now. "And I was Adrienne Galdstrup." Not anymore. Maybe the sooner she forgot who she had been, the happier she would be.

O-o

She couldn't sleep. It was as if her eyes were refusing to close, even though she was on the early shift tomorrow.

Next to her, Six mumbled something.

There were no windows down here, and the need to see the moon again was almost unbearable. But she would stay, because sneaking around could mean many things, and she would be punished for it.

Twelve had never broken a rule before. She just tried to stay out of the way, to avoid making herself noticed. That could only bring trouble.

Just as she thought that, someone opened the door a crack.

She sat upright, eyes wide. What was—what had— Dr. Kunhyi peered into the room, and his eyes skipped from sleeping slave to sleeping slave.

Only one other had sat up as well, and his eyes finally settled on her. "Ten, can you come here?" His voice was wrong.

No.

Twelve felt her stomach roll, wanted to throw up. What did he want? What was he going to do?

"Yes?" Ten asked carefully, sending a panicked glace in Twelve's direction.

"Come here a second." This time it was an order. That sounded more normal. Hesitantly, Ten slid out of the lower bunk she shared with Five and walked over. Her gait was slow, painful, and it made Twelve want to scream.

The door clicked shut behind her.

What was he doing? What was he going to do to her? Maybe he just needed something cleaned and Ten was awake. But no, wince when did anyone care about interrupting a slave's slumber? What if, no, maybe, but he had always seemed like he had some sort of morals and—

The seconds dragged out, and what was probably minutes felt like hours. It could have been, for all she knew. Finally, Ten reentered.

Twelve carefully climbed over Six and ran over to her, feet slapping against the cold tile. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Ten murmured, looking shocked. She held out her hand, where a small bottle lay. Twelve picked it up and squinted at the label. She couldn't read it in the dark. "Painkillers," Ten whispered. "He gave me painkillers."

Twelve stared at where Dr. Kunhyi had left. It was such a small thing. It wouldn't change anything. But it was kindness. It was acknowledging their humanity, their pain. Ten's pain. That his son had caused.

Maybe there was hope.

O-o

**Kay: **I know, I know. And she did kick him. A long time ago. She stopped.

**Fish: **Lars doesn't get creepier, we just see more examples of his creepyness. He's a total dick. And I love writing from his POV. XD

**Mindreadingweirdo: **Thanks!

**Tony: **I like his _character, _I hate him personally. : )

**You Know Who: **Yeah, they might.

**Shrrgnien: **yeah someone mentioned the first chapter. I'm going to look at that, except I have such limited internet access that I don't know when I can. I'll do my best.

**Moonrise: **Does this superquick update make up for it?

**Lion: **I will correct when I can get internet, OK? Thank you so much! : ) : ) : )

**Wisegirl: **Of course not.

**Dreamcatcher: **Yeah they did. They thought it was funny.

**Juliet: **Yeah… he's still a teenager no matter what he pretends

**TheRainThief: **Thanks! I love your name, too! : )


	14. Chapter 14

**TWO IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS FROM STORM BRAIN. Normally I don't go for the long A/Ns, so let's just say that I'm making up for it here. **

**I'd like to take this moment to introduce my new writing partner, Sherlock. Sherlock is a red Toshiba Satellite, and he is very excited to be working with me. Unfortunately, my former assistant, Craptop, had to be carted off to the dump. Be assured that Sherlock is far more skilled than Craptop, and can actually connect to the internet, meaning that I will be more likely to get off my lazy ass and post the chapters I've already written. **

**Also, I am now engaged to Theia 47. The engagement came about when someone informed us that we argued like an old married couple. We have already adopted Willful Destruction, Lioness, and Kaleidoscope Flowers. And I will be getting two sisters-in-law—The One called Demetra and Aish Sheva. My sister Zoe Nightshade is my maid of honor. (The Veritas family tree is rather complicated.) **

**O-o**

"Run when you have to, fight when you must, rest when you can."  
— Robert Jordan (The Eye of the World)

O-o

A minion would appear, holding a god. The god would take the sky, Hermes would be alone for a second, and then they would shoot. That was the plan. Someone would keep watch at all times, waiting for this crucial moment. Someone had been watching for the last eight days.

Eden usually watched too, bow half loaded. Time seemed to weave in and out of reality. It was always darker up here, despite the sun's position. The large black boulders scattered around looked almost like a child's game of marbles, and Eden wondered how they got there.

There was a larger collection of boulders a few yards away, but she wasn't ready to put herself through thinking about it, much less going over there like most of the party had already. They were all relaxing over there—it was good cover when needed. But.

That was where Zoë had landed when she started to die….

Zoë.

She was everywhere in this place. The wind spoke in her voice, and Eden was sure she could see her face in the mist.

But, no, she must be imagining it…

"They won't be mortals," she said, turning to Greg. "Mortals can't teleport or restrain them."

"No," he said, rolling his eyes. "We've been through this. Mortals would be nearly blind up here."

She paused, watching Dawn. The other Hunter stood, still as a pine tree, bow pointed near Hermes. The moment the next god touched the sky all hell would break loose.

"You're mortal," she reminded Greg, drumming her feet against the rock.

"Brilliant observation." He said wryly. "Then again, I married a half-blood. My daughter was a quarter. I can see through the mist. So—"

Eden froze, mind spinning. "Was?"

Greg didn't look at her. "I don't—"

The air in front of them started to glow. Dawn whistled once, and everyone dove behind their rocks, closing their eyes so as not to be incinerated by supernatural presences.

_This is it, _Eden thought, covering her eyes with her hand just in case. _We got this. _

It seemed to take an age for the light to fade, but it was only a moment after it did that the bows came up. _Don't be afraid, _they had told themselves over and over. They had had to time it just right. They couldn't worry about it being too soon because it was worse if it was too late.

Two figures stood near the center of the ring of rocks. The bullish figure and the woman in the torn dress didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

Eden's stomach clenched as she watched the defeated-looking goddess. Her face was drawn, and she lacked the confidence and strength that had once defined her character. And Eden couldn't help but feel just a little smug. They were freeing Hermes, and leaving Athena behind.

Ha.

There was no one more deserving.

The goddess of wisdom moved without being pushed, reaching up for the swirl of clouds. The moment she touched it, Hermes let his arms drop.

The minotaur reached out one beefy hand for his arm, but before he could touch him, an dozen arrows sprouted from his back.

"Rrrrrg!" He spun around, raising his Omega-shaped axes.

Eden whistled, and, like magic, they appeared. Two dozen Olympians stepped out from behind their rocks. The Minotaur growled again, looking a little confused. But then, ax held up, he reached again for the god.

"Hey!"

Clarisse charged him. Now she looked more like the one Eden remembered. The drakon slayer hurtled over a rock and stabbed at the monster. He abandoned the god and swung at her. Hermes took that opportunity to retreat.

A wind swept past, raising goose bumps on Eden's bare arms. Damn it. Why hadn't she put on her armor? What kind of idiot was she, anyway? Oh. Right. She had taken it off barely an hour ago because it was getting uncomfortable.

Gods, she was such an idiot.

But she had to do what she had to do. And that involved climbing up onto a rock to get better aim, armor or no. "Fire!"

More arrows just bounced off the thick, crude plates protecting his skin. Eden snuck a glace at Athena. Her face was pinched, but there was something else there—hope? Amusement? It didn't matter. She didn't give a damn what Athena thought. Athena didn't matter, and they would win the war without her.

"Rrr!" The monster protested, shaking his head and swatting the arrows away like flies.

It was a near silent battle, which was somewhat eerie. Just the sound of arrows flying and the occasional roar. None of the clanging and yelling she usually associated with fighting. But they would win. They would win.

"Hunters. Block Hermes." Eden said, sounding calmer than she felt. But this was just a minotaur. Not hard to kill. It was twenty five to one.

Clarisse charged it again, slamming her spear into his leg.

That didn't go over too well with the bull man. "Rrrrroooo!"

Clarisse blocked his swing, like Eden was sure she would, but it was stupid to have her risking her life when there were two dozen others.

"Unit One!" Eden barked. "Hunters, aim at the head!" Unit One rushed to Clarisse's aid. She watched as Peter grabbed onto its arm to try and get a better hit. And Eden couldn't help noticing that Greg was moving more slowly. It was a terrible thing to think, but—he was getting older. He was nearly forty. It wasn't fair, she reflected, that fighting was the job of the young when the older actually knew what they were doing.

It would be easier to fight the monster if they moved him closer to the big rock pile. If it could kill Zoë Nightshade the minotaur could damned well die there as well.

"Someone get me a sword!" Hermes yelled. Yet there were no extras to be had. Eden continued staring at the fighting. Someone just had to kill the damn thing. She shook her head slowly. Because there were so many people that no one could hit the weak chinks in its armor…

Still, she was fairly calm. This was manageable. This was easier than she had expected.

The Hunters sent off another volley, stabbing it through the eyes, just as Clarisse got a good swing at its leg and the mob surrounding its feet was able to pull it down in a cascade of crumbling yellow goo and angry monster.

It seemed to take an age for it to dissolve.

Then it was all silent.

O-o

"Damn you." Lars leaned forward, squinting through the mist. "Damn you damn you damn you."

"I'm sorry, Lord." The mortal whispered. "I can't go any faster."

Lars didn't bother to say that he wasn't referring to his pathetic mortal driver. But damn them all. Damn Vix, for letting Emerson slip through his fingers. Damn Emerson for making this all so damn hard. And damn his father for everything.

"Well, try," he snapped. "We're going to miss her—them. We're going to miss them." But they wouldn't. Couldn't. He was going to catch them all himself. He had gotten on this damned plane, after all. He had come all the way down here, and just a few minutes ago the minotaur's camera had picked up faces. Hunter faces. They were there.

And if the Hunters were there…

Of course, he was fully invested in catching the other Olympians as well. This was not only to catch the one. At least, that is what he reminded himself. But he knew that if it was a choice between slowly torturing and killing Eden Emmerson and catching the whole lot of them, he would choose the former. Because she deserved it so much. Because she was a kid disrupting his power. Because _no one _did that and survived. Ever.

He was Lars Kunhyi.

He could do anything.

O-o

They turned, leaving Athena behind. Eden slowly loosened her breath, letting it fall down the mountain side in her relief. They had hardly had to do any fighting. No more than a twelve or thirteen year old might face. And now they were free.

They had succeeded.

Ferd froze when they reached the trail again. "Do you hear that?"

Greg frowned, but instantly his eyes sharpened. A satyr's warning was the closest alarm system they could have, and Eden's heart sank. They hadn't come all this way, hadn't free the god just to _lose. _

"What type of thing is it?"

Ferd closed his eyes. Eden listened, but could hear nothing. Just the wind through the rocks.

"There's something coming," He muttered. "Monsters."

"I don't hear anything." Clarisse took a step forward. "Come on. Let's just go."

O-o

She would die. It was that simple. She would die. He would blast her to pieces.

He smiled. He could picture it so clearly: Emmerson lying on the black rocks, a piece missing from her side, dying. All the rebels would be looking sad, but she would be dead.

At last.

They rumbled into the garden.

Soon they would go above the mist and they would find them.

O-o

"Come on!" Greg crossed his arms. "We're leaving!"

Clarisse scowled. "You don't order me, Mortal. We do not run away."

"Yes you do."

The path Ferd had found led down the mountain, away from the garden. It was a narrow one. Eden's stomach clenched when she looked at it. But it was wide enough they would be able to move fairly quickly… there was only a little along a cliff side before they disappeared into some trees.

"Guys," The satyr muttered.

O-o

They drove across the young plants, leaving them in the squished wake of the large Hummer. His mortal driver seemed to be getting the message, and was picking up speed. Branches crackled beneath them, and the line of cars behind.

But then the driver put his foot on the breaks.

"Why are you slowing?" Lars roared, turning towards him.

"The path is narrow, sir," he whispered. "We are on the narrow path between the garden and the cliff. I don't want to send us into the rocks."

Damned, foolish, slow mortal. Lars fingered his sword. He could run him through… but no, he needed a driver. Still. One more false move… if they missed them because of this…

O-o

"How many are there?" Clarisse demanded of Ferd.

"Many," the satyr mumbled. "You don't hear the engines?"

Eden turned, taking a few steps back towards Athena. She strained to hear through the thick silence that enveloped them. But—there was something….

"Yes," she whispered. The smaller stones—almost like gravel—crunched under her feet as she went back. "They are close."

"Let's just kill them now." Clarisse grumbled. "We don't run away like _cowards._"

Eden knew the feeling. If Lars was coming—she wanted to kill them. As many as possible. She wanted to avenge all of the ones she had lost. But she couldn't lose more. Yet—

"No." Greg said. "We need to go. _Now._"

"Well, I'm going." Hermes had a rather ugly look on his face. Eden knew he also wanted to fight. But he didn't want to risk going back either.

The god turned and began marching down the path.

O-o

"Faster!" Lars yelled. "Faster, you bitchfucker!"

"I'm going as fast as I can." The mortal snapped, seeming annoyed.

_No one_ got annoyed at him. Screaming in anger, Lars grabbed the dagger from his sheath. "Look. Who do you answer to? Who is in charge here?"

The mortal's eyes were pulled in different directions as he tried to watch both the road and the knife that was hovering close to his neck.

"You," he said blandly.

"Yes. And if I want you to drive faster you do it, got that?"

"Of course." He didn't miss a beat. "But the fact is that I _can't _move faster here, good Lord."

"Euuugh!" Lars didn't stop to think about it. There wasn't time. He just wanted to move faster, to _be _there. And this foolish mortal was in the way. His short, stubby knife greeted the man's neck like a long lost friend.

O-o

"Clarisse, we don't know the way down." Dawn stepped forward. "Go. Please."

"_Fine._" Clarisse turned and ran off down the path. Slowly, their whole party followed. Dawn hesitated.

"You too, Eden."

Sighing, Eden went. Bow out, they ran along the rocky cliff. Rocks shifted under their feet.

O-o

By the time he finally pulled up to the mountaintop, no one was there.

No! He hadn't gotten this close to just have her—them all slip away from him like that. They were still here. They were still close.

He did a full circle, staring at the deserted peak and the black rocks.

Damnit! Damnit to effing hell!

Lars charged up to the goddess, still holding the sky. "Which way did they go?" He demanded, sticking his face close to hers. As though he could intimidate the goddess of battle. Then again, he had the power. She was trapped. She _better _be intimidated.

"Hello, Lars." She said calmly. "Nice to see you again."

"Shut up!" This woman in front of him wasn't his mother. Wasn't a person. Wasn't a goddess. Wasn't anything but someone who was preventing him from getting what he wanted. "Which way did they go?"

"Which way did who go?" Her voice was still rock-steady.

He screamed—just a wordless scream full of frustration and anger—and slashed at her arm with the knife still covered in mortal blood. A long, thin cut opened up. Athena blinked in surprise, and they both watched as a drop of golden ichor rolled out.

"Tell me." He tried to sound as dangerous, as deadly as he could.

"I don't know," she said blandly. "I was holding the sky. I missed the fighting."

This was too much. "DAMN YOU!" Lars screamed. He would have yelled a more insulting phrase, but there was no time. He turned to the line of Hummers.

"Scan the area!" He roared. "There might still be some left!"

How many paths led out of this fucking place?

There couldn't be many.

They would find them.

O-o

**Or will they? Duh nuh nuuuuuh. **

**You all thought someone was going to die in this chapter didn't you? Didn't you? I'm shocked you think so little of me. **

**Then again, they're not out of the woods yet, are they. O_O**

**On to the review replies!**

**You Know Who: **Poor carrot indeed. : -( and that is a cool quote. I might have to use it for a chapter. Hmm. Hey who are you anyway? Do you have an account? I can never reply to your reviews.

**Emeraldangel: **Thanks! : )

**Juliet: **Yeah… they're as different as you can get, really. I mean, Eden is still her own person. That's how she is where she is. And they're… not. But no. They are not filler chapters.

**Tony: **Thanks! That always makes me happy to learn I did something you don't like well… eh, that sentence didn't make sense. So I'll just say 'thanks'. It's interesting, because more people like the slave POVs more. Lol.

**Theia: **geez, fiancée. So nice and generous. X_X

**Kay: **don't die! Geez

**Fish: **Mulan kicks ASS. BEST MOVIE EVER. And I tried that, but I thought it looked better as Fifty Seven.

**Dreamcatcher: **Think of Lars's basement as Dante's levels of hell. Same idea at work.

**Shrrgnien: **you just broke your record. Darn you. X_X

**Moon: **he is kind of nice. He's fairly nice, he just can't be.

**Wisegirl: **n_n

**Jess: **I did. : )


	15. Chapter 15

**So the next chapter is put on hold because I couldn't write it right now. Like, the one I planned. I'm working on it. For those that know what's going on with the Veritas, I hope you'll forgive me, and for those that don't, pray you stay in the dark. **

**O-o**

_"There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate."  
— Charles Dickens_

_O-o_

"Look." Fifty Seven slammed a pot down on the stove. "We have, oh, twenty minutes, and you are fiddy diddling around. Hurry _up._"

Twelve groaned. "But he's _gone._" Without Lord Lars to threaten them, it was as if the whole system fell apart. They would take their sweet time doing things, speak more dangerously, be late with dinner. When he was gone, it was as if the house itself was sighing in relief.

"He said he'll be back by six thirty," Fifty Seven insisted. "And, dammit, dinner will be ready when he returns. I prefer my head on my shoulders."

"Don't we all." Fifteen said sarcastically, opening the oven and reaching for a pan.

"No!" The older slave sprang forward, shoving him out of the way. "You'll drop it!" The kitchen was proportionately small, compared with the rest of the house, and it was almost an accident waiting to happen. Someday, someone would fall into a pot and drown.

"Never trust a short person," Twelve said wisely, turning down the stove. "They might drop something. Especially with that big, heavy bread loaf. Weight of the sky, it is."

Fifteen ducked out from under Fifty Seven's arm, looking pissed. She didn't seem to notice. "Good Titans, both of you go wash the table or something. Go get Ten and Six. I cannot deal with your sarcasm any longer…" she drifted off into muttering.

Feeling somewhat insulted, Twelve headed for the door. Not that she _wanted _to be stuck in a kitchen with Fifty Seven any longer, but being kicked out was rather discouraging. Seriously? God, that woman was touchy. Twelve made sure to slam the door behind them.

"Kunhyi won't be back tonight," Fifteen muttered when they were safely in the main hall. He stopped when he saw Ten. "Your presence is requested in the kitchen."

Ten frowned. "Why?"

"She kicked us out."

"Oh." Looking distracted, Ten vanished, swallowed up by one of the many shortcuts through the house.

"Where's six?" Twelve wondered.

"Um, I think she's on Hell-duty this week. Think we should go get her?"

Twelve stopped, next to the rather unassuming door that led down to the basement. The basement was, in fact, larger than the house. Probably in an attempt to be ironic, or maybe as a joke, Lord Lars called each of his nine floors "circles." The reference wasn't lost on Twelve, who felt it was accurate . In the first circle live the slaves. Below, the varying degrees of political prisoners—minor offences to rebels— and weaponry. The bottom floor, the ninth one, was empty, much to Lars's constant frustration—it was the one reserved for the high level culprits. The row of dark cells, when Twelve went to clean, gave her the creeps because they looked… so new. New, dark, foreboding, waiting for someone to come and die there.

"What do you mean, he won't be back tonight?" Twelve asked. "How do you know?"

"It's all gone wild." Fifteen said in a confidential whisper. " He was _screaming _mad when he said to ready his plane. He only acts like he was when something happens, when Emmerson is sighted. And I heard that Zoe Verita—"

"Who's that?" Twelve paused under the chandelier. All of the Kunhyi slaves knew that Fifteen was their most reliable source of information, though they didn't know how he found out what he did.

"She was that LA resistor caught awhile ago—did you know about that?"

Biting her lip, Twelve shook her head. Fifteen looked incredulous, but then continued.

"Anyway, they were going to decapitate her, she was by the guillotine and everything, when she took out this guard, stole his sword, and managed to fight her way free. She's, like, seventeen. It's crazy. Anyway, now she's on the run, and Lord Lars wasn't too happy about that, and then you heard about Emmerson and the airport, right? That's when he went rushing off."

"Hmm." She wasn't convinced. Just in case, they should get dinner ready. The Doctor didn't give a damn whether it was at six or at seven, but... they headed for the cleaning supplies, to wipe down the table a final time.

"Which means he won't be home for dinner."

"Unless he killed them."

Fifteen froze, one foot inside the supply closet. "Don't say that." He insisted. "Don't ever say that."

The idea was horrible. Even though the resistance hadn't come for them yet, there was always that hope. Always that dream.

"Anyway. C'mere." Fifteen beckoned her into the large closet, full of buckets and mops, before closing the door. The darkness unnerved her in the second before he turned on the light. "Look what I found." He pulled something out of his pocket.

Twelve stared. "Where did you get that?"

"Promise you won't tell?" Who would she tell? Lars? Of course not. She nodded her assent, sitting on a Home Depot All Purpose Bucket.

Fifteen sat down as well. "I was getting groceries and underwear for Lame Lars, and—" he stopped, glancing nervously at the door.

"And?" Twelve prompted.

"I met one of my old friends. His name is James."

"No way." Twelve cringed, imagining Emily or Lila or someone seeing her now, like this.

"We obviously didn't talk," he said quickly. "I mean—" Talking with someone else's slaves when their owner wasn't around was forbidden. Twelve nodded again, impatient.

"Yeah?"

"And… I wasn't sure if he noticed me at first, but then we made eye contact, right? He was near the checkout, I was one spot over—we were at QFC… and then he grabbed something. You know that bench outside that people tie their dogs to all the time?"

"Yeah."

"He dropped it there, looked at me, and then hurried off to his car." Almost without thinking about it, Fifteen reached up to the Kunhyi Family Crest that was tattooed to his forehead, showing who owned him. The one that, along with their uniforms, marked them as slaves.

But it didn't matter as much as the object in Fifteen's hand. Twelve's mouth started watering. It had been so, so long.

"I used to eat these every day," he added, with a forced nonchalance. Slowly, reverently, he broke it in half. Twelve wondered if she should go get the others, but of course there wouldn't be enough to go round. Best to keep it a secret so they wouldn't know what they were missing, and wouldn't be mad. She also, in one corner of her mind, wondered why Fifteen was sharing with her, of all people—but that didn't matter.

Fifteen lifted his half in the air. "To an Olympian victory."

"To Zoe Verita," Twelve added, bumping her piece to his as if it was a toast. It didn't work as well as it did with glasses, but that didn't matter.

She broke off a square, letting herself appreciate Hershey's dark chocolate in all its glory.

O-o

**Short? Yes. But happier? I tried. Everything is falling apart right now, and the next Lars chapter wasn't going to be good for my mental health. So here's to Zoe, (who will be here in three years to kick some Titan ass,) to Des and Madsion, to Thorn, to Jess, and to Lion. **

**In happier news, I now have- *counts*- five children. Kal, Ave, Lion, Thorn and Des.**

**Ave: **I am so proud of you for reading, daughter! : )

**Wisegirl: **wow, that's a lot. O_O and I'm glad that it's worth that much. : )

**Mfinga: **A daughter of Athena slept with Zeus. This becomes rather important later, btws.

**Juliet: **Lars is a son of Athena.

**Tony: **party ponies FTW. : )

**Fish: **Well, you were WRONG, because NO ONE died in this chapter.

**Shrrgnien: **watch me.

**Emerald: **well, tada! Slaves!

**Daughter of Eirene: **mmhmm.

**Moon: **Sherlock says he will work hard.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey all. And here is the next chapter for which you have waited so patiently. I'm doing JulNoWriMo this year so I won't be posting this as much, I'll aim for one update sometime mid-july, and I'll try and write a few chapters in advance. **

**O-o**

_"Remember that all through history, there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they seem invincible. But in the end, they always fall. Always."  
— __Mahatma Gandhi_

O-o

They ran down the narrow path, forced to leave the Hummers behind. Tired of the nervous looks of his soldiers, Lars ran as close to the edge as he could. Hopefully they would take that as a hint: cold feet were not accepted here.

Metaphorical cold feet, at least. His real ones were slowly losing all feeling despite the several socks he had covered them with. Not that he was complaining, or even uncomfortable. _It's a test of strength. _He wasn't going to lose to some cold.

But this was the only way that the rebels might have escaped. The pathway dropped off into some trees soon, and that was where they must be hiding. The black trees sticking up like bent fingers.

He increased his pace, leaving his white clouds of breath behind.

Just as he was getting into a good rhythm, and the trees were looking invitingly close, someone behind him yelled. Furious at the loss of momentum, he slowed and unwillingly turned. He would have kept running, but going into rebel infested trees without his back covered... then again, the people that were covering his back weren't worth much. Two of his mortal soldiers were lying on their stomachs, holding the wrists of a third, who was hanging off the cliff.

"COME ON!" Lars roared. If they lost time, lost them because of this… "Just drop him!"

The three looked at each other, eyes wide. With one heave they pulled their comrade back up, falling over themselves on the trail.

"Come on!" Lars snarled again before turning and sprinting back down the trail. Weak, pathetic…

His claves hurt from the shocks of landing on a downhill, but it must be a trick. Lars Kunhyi didn't feel pain. This, too, must be a test.

There was a short drop-off, and then the woods. The dirt had been growing under his feet, and now his footfalls were more muffled.

The trees were tall and silent, branches spread as if they too were helping his useless mother to hold up the sky. There were no signs of life in between them. No squirrels. No birds.

Just since, broken only by the sound of his soldiers' feet.

"Fan out!" his whisper was like a knife in the darkness. "They can't be far…"

Of course, anything could be a trap. There could be a Hunter up every tree. There could be booby traps full of fire. After all, the Olympians had been there first and who knows what they might do. But he wouldn't tell his men that. He would just be cautious, and if any of them was stupid, well, it was no great loss. Stupid people weren't good soldiers anyway.

_I always think everything is a trap, _a voice in his head whispered. _That's why I'm still alive. _What movie was that? He vaguely remembered watching it with his dad, years and years ago. Before he had gone to Camp… the thought of Camp made him angry again, and so he turned his memories off.

He moved forward, more nervous than he wanted to admit. No, not nervous. He never got nervous. He was merely… edgy. After all, anything could happen.

There was a thin trail through the trees. He knelt, squinting at it in the moonlight. Footprints. Of course they would go down the trail, because straying off it could be dangerous. They wouldn't want to risk going over the cliff.

"This way." He ordered, and began a steady jog down the trail. He thought of all the ground he could have covered in his Hummer. But noooo. The stupid Olympians had to take the rocky way down.

The sky overhead was clear, and he could see all the stars. Each constellation was the sign of a god's mistake. And they thought that throwing people up to the heavens would make it all better, like, _oops I didn't mean to screw you over here's a reward, _ like becoming a constellation cured your messed up life. Ha.

He continued down the path, wondering how fast Emmerson was going. There had to have been a lot of them to get Hermes free, and so they might be moving more slowly. He paused again to check the trail.

Twenty minutes later, the only sign of them was a broken branch. Lars stopped again, listening. Was he only imagining it, or was that a rustle in the evergreen? It could be some animal, but they hadn't seen hide nor hair of one since reaching the woods.

He turned on the spot, listening, listening. Was it—

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun, raising his sword—but it was only one of his lieutenants, nodding to a tree. Furious that this mortal had spotted something he had not, he slowly raised his eyes.

There wasn't anything there.

Angry, he started to open his mouth. But as he turned away, he saw a flash of silver. Similar to those jackets the Hunters wore.

"Be on guard," he mouthed, and they all nodded. After all, arrows could come from anywhere.

Trying to make it look as if he was just stopping to investigate, he drifted a little closer to the tree, glancing up. Yes, it was most definitely a Hunter. He could see her back. But which one?

There was only one way to find out.

He spun on his heel and walked back towards his men. _Nothing to see here. _The Hunter shouldn't be too concerned. And even the most sharp eyed Olympians wouldn't notice the way he tapped his two fingers together and wiggled his pinky.

But his minions were watching his hand for such a sign, and, upon seeing it, one of them walked back to where he had come from, armed with a sharp throwing knife.

Despite the fact that he was a mere mortal, Lars had to have a bit of a grudging respect for his acting. He looked around, seeming to look for something. But then, out of nowhere, his arm reared back and he sent the knife spinning up towards the branch where the Hunter waited.

No sounds came from the top of the tree but a dull _thunk _as the knife hit its mark. Lars smirked. She was probably too surprised to do anything about it._ One Hunter down, seven to go. _

But when the knife came back down—a perfect hit, plunged into the back in a clearly fatal spot—he saw that that was not the case. There was no Hunter there. It was just a jacket.

Everyone stared at it for a moment as it lay on the ground, arms bent at weird angles.

They were going to pay for that one. He opened his mouth, ready to bellow in rage.

That was when the first arrow came flying out of a different tree.

O-o

"Olympian to the left!" He roared, pointing at one of his archers. "Fire!"

Just as he said that, another arrow came from the right, pegging the useless mortal through the neck. He stumbled, then fell over.

Lars didn't blink. "Olympians to the right!"

Olympians _everywhere. _

This ambush had gone totally wrong. After all, it was he, Lars Kunhyi, that was supposed to be the ambusher, not the ambushee. And yet here the Olympians were, hidden up various trees, firing at him from all around. Was it just the Hunters laying a trap? What about Galdstrup and Johnson? They'd be around somewhere… but before he could deal with that, he was being fired at.

He wouldn't take it.

If only he had a gun. If only Kronos hadn't decided that guns were useless and ordered them destroyed. If only the Titans differed from the Gods in that aspect—that they should keep to the older, more traditional weapons.

Still. He had his minions. And that was good enough.

They were the Titan Army. No one could defeat them.

"Get them out of the trees!" He himself turned to where the first arrow had come from but was only a few steps towards it when a rock landed just a few inches away.

That might have been nasty.

He pulled the visor of his helmet over his face and began to climb. It was harder with his armor on than it should have been. He should have worked on this more lately. Oh well. He was still superiorly strong and mighty.

_Thunk. _

His eyes darted to one side and he saw the silver arrow in a branch next to his head. He ducked under it as another arrow buried itself in the wood.

Definitely a Hunter. He looked up, wondering if there was anyone else in the tree. There was at least one shadowy figure, but if there was a second, he couldn't see it.

One Hunter. No problem. Even if it was Emmerson. He was just going to push her out of the tree and watch her go _splat _below. She would be lying on the ground looking a lot like that jacket. Limbs broken, bloody, _dead. _Ha. The image gave him strength. That was the fate of a certain Hunter within the next few hours, if not all of them.

He scrambles up the last few branches, coming face to face with a thirteen year old girl.

As thirteen year old girls go, this one would look a lot less intimidating if she wasn't holding a bow aimed straight at him.

She looked somewhat—native American? It was hard to tell in the dark. The whites of her eyes glinted in the moonlight, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She stared at him with a hard, calculating look.

Her face was familiar. He could picture the file with her picture on it, but the letters of her name drifted around. _Dwan? Adwn? _It didn't matter what her name was. It only mattered that she was about to die.

He swung his sword wildly, and she leaned backwards, just missing it.

Here in this tree they were both at a disadvantage. Neither could move easily. Still. He had more power at close range.

She seemed to realize this too. As he stabbed at her, she swung backwards out of the tree.

_Yes! _

But instead of falling, she had her legs hooked around the tree branch, like a small child on the monkey bars. Before his brain made the connection—_cut her leg off—_She had grabbed a branch lower down and was swinging around again. Her legs would be pretty damn scratched up. But she acted as if she didn't know this, making a leap for another nearby tree and to safety.

If she wanted to run away, he'd follow. If he couldn't kill Emmerson tonight he would at least be able to take out one of her sisters.

The black haired Hunter turned around once she was safely in the other tree and fired a few more arrows. He knocked one out with his sword, but the other bounced off his armor. That would probably bruise in the morning. But he ignored it, again pressing forward. She would expect him to stop. But Lars Kunhyi never stopped.

His jump wasn't nearly as agile as hers had been. But it didn't matter, because he made it to the other tree.

_Yes. _He had done it. He advanced on her, balancing on one branch. She was going to fall. They were a good twenty five feet in the air. He would stand here, above her, above them all—

There was a rustling above his head, and two feet appeared from a large mess of pine needles. Another rustle, and the feet grew legs and a torso and a blonde head capped with a silver band.

The other Hunter melted from his mind. Lars jumped up, swinging his sword, making a large gash in the branch Emmerson was standing on.

_Creeak!_

She didn't hesitate, but jumped off, falling straight towards him. The knife in her hand reflected the moonlight. Lars tried to get out of the way, but there wasn't time to move, to think—her full weight fell against him, her knife going into his shoulder. The black haired Hunter's bow came up.

There wasn't time to do anything else, though. The three people, the sudden impact, was clearly too much for the piece of wood under their feet. With a crack, it let go.

The branch, the Hunters, and Lars Kunhyi shot towards earth.

O-o

**So I forgot to mention this earlier, but KayCelestine wrote a Lars/Eden fic. Why? Because she's crazy. *rolls eyes* anyway. It's mostly-kinda- well, ok. It's good. It's just… *wince* **

**And also, TYOOT won the Verita award, taking like 50 or 60%. Thank you to all those that voted! : ) **

**I am doing JulNoWriMo so I'll write a chapter in advance but starting Thursday I'm going to be out. I'll try and update at least once or twice during the month. Sorry 'bout that. **

**Also, my dear daughter showed me how to do the line break. But I cannot leave my beloved O-o symbol. **

**Anyway. **

**Little Miss Hades—**Um, I changed it a fair amount. E.g. Twelve

**Hp: **Ok. Thanks? I think?

**Kanae: **Athena irritates me. I admire her, but she's kind of cold hearted and annoying and… yeah.

**Iridescent: **Thanks! Hey, nice username. : D

**Zoe: **We love you. You're reading this right?

**Cez: **Yes, it must have.

**Shrrgnien: **Years of our Crap? Gee, thanks. :P hey! I did not kill Melanie. So pfft. And I might kill a couple viewpoint narrators. Probably not all of them

**Fish: **Get someone else to bring you up to speed. I'm too pissed right now. *sigh* And I hope the finals went OK.

**Ave—**I'm so proud of you! Did you read this the day it was posted too?

**Moon: **yep. : )

**Tony: **Thanks… just, thanks. I don't know what to say to that. Here's hoping that this chapter clears some of it up.

**You Know Who: **I know nothing about a national flaming day. That's a great quote. And you need an account. You don't have to write to get an account. : P

**Emeraldangel: **It does. Here's to happier chapters, eh?

**The Tester: **dark FTW

**Draco: ***smiles mysteriously* somewhere…

**Wisegirl: **thanks. Hope you did well on your finals.


	17. Chapter 17

_"Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell."  
— __Joan Crawford_

She didn't stop and ponder her mortality, and her life didn't flash before her eyes. She didn't stop and think about what was going to happen, or what already had. She didn't ponder the meaning of death.

After all, an object in motion stays in motion until acted upon by another force.

A hundred years worth of training kicked in, every automatic motion she didn't think about anymore. Eden reached out, snagging a branch. Her shoulder jerked, and she yelped, swinging forward and crashing into the tree face first.

_Owwwwwwww! _

She glanced down. No convenient branches below her. Nothing but the thin, hard dirt below her to break her fall. Nowhere to go. She swung forward and grabbed the branch with her other arm, looking down again to watch Dawn and Lars hit the ground.

_Dawn! _

On instinct, she let go. This time from only ten feet up, and she bent her legs.

"Oomph!" She had to run several steps forward to keep from falling. Sounds of a battle echoed around them, and she could distinctly hear Peter's yell. It was the one that was supposed to be intimidating but really wasn't.

There was no one with them under this tree, and, slowly, she turned.

"Dawn?" She was hesitant, afraid to hear the answer.

"Mmm." She groaned, trying to sit up.

"Dawn!" Eden ran to her, ignoring the body of Lars on the ground. She could deal with him in a moment. "Are you okay?"

She had just fallen out of a tree. What a stupid question.

Just as she thought that, a cold wind trickled past, raising goose bumps on her bare arms. She wanted her jacket. But the shiny silver was all too visible in the dark. The low, hanging branches of the evergreen tree kept them from view, and it felt strangely… quiet. Despite the fact that they were fighting.

"Owwww." Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, tried to stand. But she ended up rolling backward, gasping for air.

"Broken rib?" Eden asked, her mind automatically jumping to her list of complications that could come from falling from a tree. Really, there was a large list. Once Lydia had had a branch gorge her stomach, and Artemis never really got the scar out. Or the time Thalia's tree burned down during a bull attack and she had to do a monkey jump to another one. Or the time—

_Shut up. _

"Leg?" Dawn gasped. "I don't—" she doubled over in silent pain, and Eden thought she might have seen a small tear.

"OK.," she said, trying to stay calm. "I'm going to move you behind the—" something moved behind her.

"Eden!"

She grabbed her knife from her sheath, stabbing at the area behind her, turning around a second later. Lars leaned backwards from his position on the ground, blood leaking from one of the gaps in his armor. His sword was held at an awkward angle, as if he was trying to stab her in the back.

Trembling, Eden stood. He was having trouble standing. Just lying there… Carefully, she loaded her bow, aiming at a spot between his eyes.

The grey irises widened as he stared back at her, clearly in disbelief. At the idea that he was the one on the ground and she was the one seconds from ending his life.

Just because they had the same eyes, that meant nothing. He was a traitor and deserved everything he got. She pulled back.

_Shoot! Kill! _

"Nice knowing you," she said calmly. Her fingers loosened. She could feel the taunt bowstring, the one that had assisted her in the deaths of so many monsters, so many Titan soldiers. And she let go.

O-o

_Kathump! _

The mortal soldier slammed into her. She fell, and her arrow shot up into the trees. They landed in a pile on the dirt. His hand on her wrist as he tried to keep her from reloading.

_Get off of me! _She grabbed at her dagger again, stabbing the man in the stomach. A howl of pain echoed around the area as he rolled over and did not get up.

The fight was all around their tree now. Eden struggled to get her bearings. But now it was just a mass of bodies, pushing, shoving, screaming, and there was Rio, standing over Dawn protectively, and there was a Titan soldier swinging at Greg, and there was Peter yelling at her and waving his arms and it was all there, all around them, and there wasn't anything she could do because she couldn't move because all the bodies were crammed up against her as they fought amongst themselves and she couldn't move couldn't think couldn't focus and there was Dawn Dawn Dawn in the middle of it all and she couldn't move and Dawn couldn't move and she couldn't help Dawn and she was going insane and oh no—

_Bang! _

The tree trembled, swaying back and forth wildly. Or maybe it was just the light, flashing around the area, flinging everyone, Titan and Olympian alike, into the air and onto their backs.

For a moment there was silence as they all struggled to get back to their feet.

_What do I do what do I do… _

She loaded her bow. _Twang-thwack. Twang-thwack. _Could she load fast enough? _Twang-thwack. _The arrows nuzzled their recipients' necks lovingly, and a few mortal eyes dulled while a dracaena exploded into dust.

Then everyone was on their feet again, and the fight continued before she was able to get anywhere near her fallen sister.

_Do it again. _She raised one hand, but it was dark. A little of the glow she got from being a Hunter, but nothing else. Nothing unnatural. Nothing like the force that had just shot out of her.

Then someone swung a sword at her, and her mind blanked as she threw herself back into the fight. Part of her appreciated the—the frantic pace. She was able to just lose herself—body and mind—in the mist of the clash taking place at the foot of the great tree.

A block. A stab. Turning. A small fight against a dracaena. Grabbing a fallen sword and decapitating a mortal, the blood squirting out, his mouth opening in horror, the strange feeling in her stomach. Then it was lost again as she had to let go of her feelings, her mind.

Stab. Block. Swipe. Shoot. Kick. Block. Block. Spin.

Just a swirl of colors, of shapes, of reflexes, and a ride on adrenaline.

Still. That nagging whisper in the back of her mind- _protect Dawn—_pushed her forward. It wasn't a thought or a desire so much as an urge, an instinct.

Part of her brain recognized Peter a few feet away, waving both a sword and, strangely, a golf club. Willow, perched in a tree branch, calmly taking out soldiers. Clarisse, charging at least ten at once.

Willow!

She turned to her, trying to make herself heard. "Cover!" She hollered. Willow looked at her and nodded to show that she understood. That settled, Eden made a break to where Dawn was trying to pull herself out of the mess.

All the Titans seemed to have left her for dead. No one was trying to kill her. Their only show of concern was for Lars, who Eden saw sitting on a tree branch looking rather angry indeed.

She tried again to weave her way through the throngs of flashing swords, but it seemed like every time she took a step it was another camo-clad minion yelling her name as if she was some sort of prize, and it was another knife, another creature to kill, something else blocking her.

This wasn't going to work.

She turned back to Willow again and nodded at Dawn. The younger Hunter got the message almost instantly, and swung down from her tree.

Eden turned away.

The fight went on. Shouted orders. Crashing swords. Blood and chaos.

_Dawn Dawn Dawn Dawn. _It came a little this time. Her hand lit up, a brilliant white. Nothing dramatic like sometimes. But it sort of listened. It was there, it was zigging under her skin, waiting to explode, and somehow she had just managed to coax a little forth.

There wasn't time to stop and ponder, though.

She lifted the light into the air. It flashed around the trees, clear as day, lighting everything up as if by moonlight.

_Artemis, _she thought, loud as she could. _Artemis. _It was as if the goddess herself was with her. She hadn't seen light like that in so long.

They came after her, as she knew they would, and she turned, running back down the trail.

They followed.

"Eden!" She could only afford one glance over her shoulder, seeing Greg who was also watching her with an unreadable expression. Peter was shaking his head.

Too late.

She kept on running.

They kept on following, some of them holding Lars on their shoulders.

She ran towards Hermes, a whisper in the trees ahead of her.

He was the fire that sprouted behind her, in the narrowing gap between her and her pursuers. That made them stop and try to go around.

And Eden kept running, branches cracking under her feet, scratching her arms. Running parallel to the inferno, around to her family.

Running, running, running. Yet never seeming to get anywhere because Hermes had spread.

"It's me," she cried at one point after failing to find an edge. "Lord Hermes, it's me!"

The fire didn't answer. The fire ignored her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn't Hermes anymore. Maybe he didn't have the same thoughts as the animal one did, but just the urge, the instinct, to devour. To eat. To destroy.

She tries to run faster, to try and get around it, tried to put the screams and yells of the Titan army behind her as they were eaten by the flames. "Greg!"

The flames cackled at her voice.

"Dawn! Willow! Peter!"

A faint echo came, as if from a great distance. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. It took a few seconds for the answer to come. From the direction away from the fire. She started sprinting towards it, whistling again. Again, an answer.

_Marco! _She whistled.

_Polo! _Came the answer.

_Marco!_

_Polo!_

_Marco!_

_Polo!_

_Marco!_

_Polo!_

_Marco!_

Silence. She kept running, towards where she heard the last whistle.

_Marco! Marco! Marco!_

_Marco! Marco! Marco!_

She didn't feel the sudden cold that came with escaping the fire. She didn't feel the branches, didn't realize that she'd lost a shoe. _Where are they? Where are they? Where are they? _

_Marco! Marco! Marco!_

The fire was chasing her now, and she half turned. "Lord Hermes." It was a plea, and Eden Emmerson never begged. Never. But it was all around her now. She coulnd't think. The disjointed thoughts mashed together in her mind.

_Dawn!_

_Willow!_

_Fire!_

_Run!_

_Greg!_

_Marco!_

_Run!_

_Fire!_

_BEHIND YOU! _

She whirled around, raising her sword. A burning dracaena staggered towards her, arms outstretched.

Her arrow went through its neck. More mercy than it deserved, it died a quick death.

_MARRRCOOOOO! _

Finally, finally, an answer from a different direction. She began running, trying to outrun the spreading fire that was finding a lot of fuel in the dead branches littering the ground.

_Polo!_

She kept on running. It was strange, this feeling of running away, this enemy you could not fight. She didn't like it.

_Polo!_

_Polo!_

_Marco! _

There was no warning when she first reached them—she fell full force into Willow's back and they both went rolling down the hill.

"Eden!" Someone grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet.

"Rio!"

Greg appeared then, creeping from the shadows. His face was discolored with blood and soot. "Come on."

"Lord Hermes." Eden said, looking back.

"Present and accounted for." Said a calm voice behind her. She turned, eyes narrowing.

"What the bloody—" at the last second, she remembered that she was talking to a god, and stopped. Still.

He just shrugged. "I haven't eaten in a long time."

"You don't…"

It didn't matter. She was one mortal. Hermes had been a hungry god, eating in the form of a fire, and she didn't matter to him in any way. Had she been eaten by flames, he would have hardly noticed. Such was the life of an immortal.

The Olympian army turned and ran, leaving the burning forest behind them.

**O-o**

**Hey all. Yes. It is the 14****th****, as promised. : ) JulNo is going pretty well. I was behind, but now I've pulled ahead, thanks to Write or Die. **

**Fishpony—**It was from the Princess Bride. Best movie evah. I know, right? It's just like, god, get a clue… .

**No I Don't Know Who—**I LOVE THE BOOK THIEF. Sorry, just letting that one out. Why is getting an account such a big deal? I know a lot of people with accounts that don't write and it takes ten seconds to set one up.

**Tony—**I don't do _that _many cliffies. I know. LarsxEden FTL

**Draco—**LOL. And here we have the Ego Contest. It's Lars Kunhyi vs Theia 47. And the Hunter was just Dawn. And somewhere means "do you think I'm going to give away secrets?"

**Wisegirl—**What a woooooooonderful phrase. Hakuna Matada. Ain't no passing craze. It means no worries for the rest of your days. It's our problem free philosophy. Hakuna Matata!. (Hakuna Matata? Yeah. It's our motto. What's a motto? What's a motto with you?) Those two words will solve all your problems. Take Pumbaa here. Why, when he was a young warthog… _When I was a young ward hogggggggg! _Very nice.

Aaaand that's all I know. : )

**Hp—**well, that's how he works. *shrug*

**Mysterious Theia Lover- ***rolls eyes* whatever.

**Shrrgnien—**I DID NOT KILL MELANIE!

**Emerald—**crap. I'll watch for that.

**Sharon—**I know, right?

**Moonrise—**it is. And I'm not _taking a break, _I'm doing julNo.

**Juliet—**omg! A miracle! Canst thou review this chapter too?

**Cara—**thanks

**Kanae—**well, here 'tis.

**Please note that I took a day away from my JulNo to write this chapter. **_**You're welcome. **_**And 'ello, Zoe! *huggles x10* **


	18. Chapter 18

_"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us. And the world will live as one."  
— __John Lennon_

Dear Thalia

I'm alive.

It's amazing, really. Does it feel like this in Elysium? Can you feel the ground under your feet, smell the wind? Can you slowly chew on the first food you've had all day, have the sensation of not being hungry? Do you get that adrenaline rush when you're killing monsters and knowing you're doing it _for _something? When you have a cause? Can you feel the relief of victory?

I don't know. I'm feeling… happier today. It's been a month since we escaped San Fran—almost no mishaps on the way home, a miracle, really—and Hermes's presence has been really helpful. For example, he worked out that problem with the shoes, and now they actually move pretty fast. He's also been able to make our protection that much stronger.

He can't do food at _all, _though. He tried to multiply our food stock, and what he did make was kind of a moldy mess. Which is stupid. He's a god. But apparently it has something to do with Demeter like ten years ago… I'm not really sure what happened, but she sort of called dibs on her territory. But that was disappointing. We're doing OK on food right now though, so I'm not that worried.

As we go into the third year of the Titan Regime—they're calling it _03, the Year of our Titans,- _I'm starting to get higher hopes. Three is a magic number, isn't it? We have a few more bases—We now have seven or eight in various places across the US, and we're scouting out locations for another one in Arizona. And despite his failure with food, Hermes is invaluable when it comes to weapons.

Just have to say, though—Hermes can be an asshole. He clearly thinks of himself as above us, and of course he is, but I can't help but feel that he… I don't know. I shouldn't even write this because he might know. Actually, wait, screw it. I don't care if he does. Hermes can just piss me off because he doesn't understand the concept of mortal council. We're working for the same goal, but sometimes there has to be agreement. This isn't a Hermesocracy.

We're fighting _for _the gods.

We're not fighting under them.

And I hate, hate, hate being talked down to. I don't care if I'm stuck in this god damned body. I'm not fourteen.

But for once I'm happy to be alive.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just stupid for being optimistic. Maybe it'll just let me down. But if there's any hope at all, I'm going to take it… because the alternative is to be a pessimistic harbinger of doom and I don't want that either. But when the council is hopeful, then everyone else tends to be hopeful as well, and that helps when fighting, even if the hope is misguided…

It's not that I don't worry, or that I don't care… or that many things are much better either, to be honest. There's this giant tree near our bunker, and on it people have started to carve the names of those that have died or are missing. I went out a few days ago and found that someone had recently added the names _Phoebe Byrd, Lydia Valinto, Robin Crabtree _and _Lark Whisper _into one of the branches. Your name, of course, has been on there from the get-go. You're near the center, and your name is in larger letters. It sort of bothers me that you're so far away from your sisters. Though there's no good reason for feeling that way. I'm just sort of rambling now.

Adrienne Galdstrup was also added to one branch that is covered in missing people. I don't know if Greg carved it or not, but I can't help it sometimes. I go and just stare at all those missing names, wondering if Adrienne Galdstrup or Laura Palm or Seth March are still alive somewhere, or they're just lying unclaimed in a mass grave.

Wow, Eden. Way to kill your happy mood.

It's the truth, I guess. But we're going to win this. We're going to grit our teeth and come out on top. The gods won in the first great war and they're sure as hell going to win again.

Still. Maybe I'm still high on victory. There are no true victories in battle, they say, because both sides lose fighters. But this time, we came out on top.

Yours

Eden

O-o

**Ok. So I shouldn't be writing this because it's JulNo and I'm trying to break away from fanfic and all that jazz, but I wrote this and the next chapter earlier because I'm dumb like that. Idiot me also wrote a damn oneshot for the Hunger Games. *bangs head repeatedly against table* **

**So it'll be a quick update to the next chap. **

**And now, for what you've all been waiting for… **

**Emerald: **I'm not going to kill Lars a third of the way through the story. That would be boring.

**Wisegirl: ***hands Wisegirl a writer's block battering ram* good luck

**Fish: **Gods don't need to eat, but they enjoy doing so

**Shrrgien: **I DID NOT KILL MELANIE. Where do you get that idea? And yeah… yeah, that may be a problem. .

**F F: **Thanks! In one sitting? Nice. That makes me feel special. Lol.

**Hp: **IMHO, if every chapter is full of plot and character development, it gets kinda tiring. But that's just me. : ) And I'm glad it was good despite that.

**Moonrise: **I promised, didn't I? : ) hope it was a good one

**No-I-Don't-Bloody-Well-Know-Who: **Dude, it's an online account. It's not like it's a big deal or that you can only have one. I mean, I have a FF, and a FP that I never use, and a GR and a Blue Trident that I never use and a I never use and… the list goes on. You're allowed to join more than one site. And a lot of people that don't write have FF accounts. And that's great about Zoe… *crosses fingers* And about the man- he should probably just cry… : (

**Dreamcatcher: **Maybe.


	19. Chapter 19

_"You realize that our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past."  
— __Chuck Palahniuk__ (__Survivor__)_

There was nothing quite like the glittering outfits, the elaborate decorations, the delicious food that made up the New Years party at the Kunhyi mansion. The slaves had spent nearly three days putting up all the decorations—the likenesses of all the Titans, the food, carefully arranged on the tables in a sort of mural; Kronos's face, his gold eyes made of Asian pears, his hair in carefully arranged breaded chicken. An orchestra was playing over in the corner, nearly hidden by the crowd of dancers swaying back and forth.

Twelve drifted past Lars and one of his suck-ups, holding a try of wine glasses. Lord Lars reached out and took one, andand the other man quickly followed suit. Lars, having just turned twenty one, seemed to have only increased his drinking. The other man was at least thirty, and there seemed something weird about him chatting up a kid, but Twelve shrugged it off. Power was power, no matter what age.

"Excellent music," Suck-up said.

"Yes, it is."

Twelve had to work to not snort. Lars had wanted a heavy-metal band, and this had to be the only argument the Doctor had won against his son. The party was thrown to mark the beginning of the third year of their reign, and, the Doctor said, they had to make a good impression. Friendliness towards the Titans went a long way in finding the rebels, and heavy metal wouldn't get them anywhere.

It was humiliating to be walking around here in her grey tunic-like uniform amid all the tuxedos and beautiful dresses. She couldn't help be jealous of the emerald green one a woman on the dance floor was wearing, even though clothes didn't matter, shouldn't matter.

A snap of the fingers brought her back. "Over here." She turned, smiling as was required of her, to deliver drinks to the two women standing near the food.

Fifteen passed her bearing a plate of chocolate truffles. She briefly considered asking him if he wanted a glass of wine as a joke, but there were too many people around. Slaves did not stop and talk to each other when there was work to be done. Still, he met her eyes, then pointedly looked over at the ugliest, most skimpy red dress that had ever been seen on the face of the earth. Then Fifteen vanished into the crowd, and she went the other way.

"Wine!" One man called. "Would you care for some, Doctor?"

"Sure." Dr. Kunhyi reached out and plucked a glass of red.

"About the rebels, though, you can't really underestimate them, can you. I think a lot of Emmerson's, er, abilities have been talked up quite a bit—" the man's hands were darting from glass, unable to decide between red and white. Or maybe it was the Merlot vs Loon. Twelve sighed, just a tiny bit. "What do you recommend?"

Dr. Kunhyi raised his glass just a little bit. "The red merlot is very good."

"Hmm. Anyway. I know that Emmerson is impossible to find. She's been a Hunter too long. But her brain is still stuck in adolescence, and she probably isn't as good at strategy."

Twelve stared down at her tray, wanting nothing more than to roll her eyes. This man sounded like one of the ones that was always stopping by trying to chat up the influential Kunhyis, but really didn't know much about what was going on.

He touched the rim of a glass, then skipped to another. "It all looks so good. Maybe I'll have to have two glasses." He paused, not seeming to realize that Dr. Kunhyi was barely participating in the conversation. "It's Gregory Galdstrup, really, that's the ace up their sleeves. For all his failings, he has a real knack for battle. Any idea where he is?"

Twelve's hand trembled, and the wine in the glasses rippled. Small waves crashed against the insides.

_Did he just say—_

"With Emmerson, we assume."

_Did he just say—_

She looked up, trying not to show any emotion, as the man finally picked some white wine and waved her off.

_Did he just say… _

The voice echoed in her head. _It's Gregory Galdstrup, really, that's the ace up their sleeves… _

He wasn't dead.

He was an Olympian.

But if he was their strategist, then why hadn't he come for her? If he was that high up, why didn't he know… she mentally conjured up an image of her dad, reading her bedtime stories as a child, coaching the soccer team, then tried to imagine him fighting. She knew he had been in the military, but had never been able to make it fit. And now if he was with Emmesron…

Dr. Kunhyi was staring at her, shaking his head ever so slightly. And the wave of joy, of relief, that had hit her faded. Did he know? Did Lars know?

"If you will excuse me," he said to man, "I see my son waving to me…"

Still, he was staring at Twelve, then nodded shortly as he turned and began weaving his way through the crowd.

Twelve followed, heart nearly in her mouth. It had been three years and she had never heard of her father's place in the resistance. Had the Doctor just put together the relationship? She wasn't exactly the image of him, but they had the same eyes, same hair, same fingers. Had he only realized that second? Was he going to kill her, or hold her for ransom, or—

She looked around, wanting to give Six or Fifteen some clue of what was going on. She had last seen Six over here with some fruit salad, but she was nowhere to be seen…

"Come." The Doctor hissed, and she sped up as they made their way towards the kitchen. Down a hall, down another.

The kitchen itself was empty. All the cooking had been done, and everyone else was out managing the party. Once the door shut behind them, he turned. Swallowing, she took a few steps back, standing in front of the stove. If she had to, she figured, she could turn it on, maybe use it as a weapon…

"What—" It was frowned upon to speak before you were spoken to, but there was something about his expression, and it was her life, her life, and she wasn't going to sit in silence as someone else dictated it for her.

"You know nothing," he said, staring at her. "You heard nothing."

How intelligent did he think she was? She wasn't going to spread the news. But if she wasn't supposed to know, then she should deny it, because if Dr. Kunhyi knew then he would tell Lars… she had to convince him that it wasn't. "With all respect, sir, I'm not sure what you're talking about."

He nodded, approving. "Lars doesn't know," he continued in a low voice.

He might be bluffing, but it was still a comforting notion. And if he knew anyway—"How long…"

"I always knew." He looked around. "He was already making news when you were put up for sale. I figured you'd be safer here than anywhere else because I manage Lars's slaves and anyone else would have put two and two together long ago."

"But—"

If he was out there, if her father was fighting… well, that settled it. She had to escape. She had to join him.

"But what?"

How could she say she had to leave? Dr. Kunhyi wouldn't want his property running away. She thought of the painkiller incident, nearly a year ago now. He had always seemed nicer, and now, if he had been protecting her all these years—but why? Whose side was he on?

He seemed to guess what she was thinking, though.

"Nothing has changed," he insisted. "You're not going to be able to run away now any more than you could when you first got here."

They both looked down at her ankle where the band rested, unmovable.

"Can I…" she swallowed. "Who… who do you support?"

He just stared at her. "Do you think I have much of a choice? I don't agree with all his actions, but Lars is my son, and I will stand with him."

Like she was supposed to interpret that? Twelve swallowed.

"Now, I have to get back to my party." But his eyes were sympathetic. "I'm surprised you didn't realize for years, but I tried to hide it. Because if you didn't know, you wouldn't have to pretend."

The door swung shut behind him.

Twelve loaded the plate with new wine glasses, to make it look like her detour to the kitchen had a point, but her mind was spinning.

_He's alive. He's alive. He's one of the more famous Olympians. _

And for just a moment, Adrienne Galdstrup appeared, for the first time in years.

**O-o**

**OK, ok, I updated this really fast because I'm a friggin hopeless case. Anyway. **

**Fishpony: **IKR? It's all pretty stupid and yet so important. Hermesocracy? Yeah, thank god it doesn't exist.

**Shrrgnien: **I decapitated her. That's not the same as killing. And it'll be a bit : )

**Moonrise: **Yeah, it's annoying. Silly characters. I fixted the typo, AND updated soon, AND it was a slave chapter. You're on a _roll. _

**No-but-you-should-tell-me-who: **I do that sometimes. Write letters, I mean. And I thought you were a girl. Why do you think I didn't? *is confused* I call _everyone _dude. It's not gender specific. :D awesome quote

**Jess: **Lame reviews are reviews : )

**Dreamcatcher: **sent you a message via PM

**Wisegirl: **Congratz!

**Critic: **Kind of. Some stuff in there is important. And it's more like a summary because it's currently headed towards 100 chapters and I'm frantically cutting back, but…


	20. Chapter 20

_"You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival."  
— __Winston S. Churchill_

Lars hated Mexico. Everything about it. From the hot sun, beating down mercilessly, to all the people speaking in a language he didn't understand, to the palm trees and the way they looked like they had beards. Not like in the postcards.

Or maybe it was just the fact that General Martínez had managed to find the rebel camp, and he had yet to find the one in Seattle. Then again, La Paz contained no important rebels, and because they were less important they were less intelligent and didn't know how to keep themselves hidden.

At least his presence had been specifically requested. It meant this Martínez knew who the boss here was. Who the powerful one was. Who could do most of the exterminating.

A mortal buckled up Lars's breastplate, brushed a little bit of dust from one of the creases, while another made sure his sword was sharp enough. He put on his helmet himself, just as Martínez came in.

They stood facing each other for a moment. Lars knew the other man was at least six years older than him, but what was age in battle, when you had already proved yourself? He looked past him, outside the tent flap. Masses of soldiers were assembling, and he felt a surge of bloodlust. They were going to make history today.

Martínez opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a mortal scampered in.

Clearly shocked to be in the presence of the two great people at once, he bowed extra low, head hitting the floor.

"Lord Lars Kunhyi," he said politely. "I bring you news on the situation of the Seattle rebels." He had a rather obnoxious accent, marring his words. He made them too soft.

"Do tell," Lars said in a bored tone, making a big deal of enunciating properly so these idiots would see how it was done.

"Four hunters—including Emmerson—were seen near the train station, along with a mass of people that were from the Seattle base. We tried to block their way, and killed several, but many escaped." The words sounded flat, rehearsed, but rushed, as though he had practiced this over and over but was scared out of his mind. Lars smiled. That was as it should be. "We think they are trying to bring aid into México."

Was he frustrated, angry, or pleased? Lars couldn't tell. Killing Emmerson would be a great end to this miserable trip, but it would be easier to best the Mexicans without them. He turned again to Martínez.

"We must attack soon," he said, wondering if he should kill the mortal but deciding against it. He just waved him out. The relief was obvious on his face, and Lars smiled again, just a tiny bit. The mortal minions weren't that scared of Martínez, that was for sure—Lars's reputation was known worldwide, he imagined.

"Yes," the other general said, his accent even thicker than the mortal's. Titans, why didn't everyone in the world speak English fluently? The smile slipped off Lars's face as he gritted his teeth. At least he was fluent, unlike some of the barbarians around here. Was Mexico—or _México, _as they constantly mangled the name—even a civilized country? He couldn't tell. "The troops are lined up. We are just waiting for the attack, and the rebels are clearly collected inside."

Their so-called _base _was a network of tunnels connected to the sewers. Really, it was scandalous that they had lived there for a year now and not been found out.

It would be easier for them to defend it, too. Stupid Martínez had proposed welding the entrance shut and filling it with water, or maybe gas, á la Warsaw Ghetto, but there were too many openings, and Lars had been sorely tempted to roll his eyes at the stupidity of this argument. Did he not think that the Titan forces could take out the rebels the old fashioned way, by strength?

"Come on, then." Lars led the way out of his tent, to where the Mexico sun was insufferably hot. He instantly started to sweat inside his armor, and, furious, he scowled up to where Hyperion was probably laughing.

"Stand clear." A man wearing a protective suit lifted up the first entrance, carefully lighting sticks of dynamite and throwing them down. All the forced backed into a large circle around it, waiting… waiting…

Underneath, Lars wondered if the rebel-vermin was waiting too, or trying to get away from the dynamite. He imagined their panic, tasted the fear that must be in the air.

_Bo-bo-b-b-bo-boom! Oom! Oom! _ Cement and limbs were flung into the air, a chorus of screams watching them go. The voices echoed weirdly, down in the hole, and Lars could hear the telltale sound of other explosions throughout the city.

An arm landed at his feet. Bloody, detached. Owner most likely dead. Lars's vision narrowed, as he focused on the problem at hand, and he began to move forward, sword in the air.

"Chaaaaarrrge!"

O-o

They could only get a few of their soldiers in the tunnels at a time, but they had the strength of numbers. It was annoying, though, having to climb over the dead bodies of the ones that fell prey to the booby traps—the burning oil, the Greek fire, the mines. Lars hung out near the back of his masses, waiting for a clearer opening before going in.

There had to be at least three Titan soldiers for every rebel. He had brought a lot of his minions with him from Seattle, and there were some from Guatemala and Arizona as well as all over Mexico. This, he reflected, was going to be easy.

It took nearly two hours, though, before he wandered into the fight himself. He was still hoping for Emmerson and her cronies to appear, to see how hopeless the situation was, but they didn't.

_Probably still mucking through the wilderness, _he thought smugly. _Thought you could ride the public transportation undetected, did you?_

The tunnels were nice and cool, out of the sun. Sighing in relief, he swung his sword, just barely missing a rather vertically challenged man. He finished him off in seconds, though, and kept pressing forward.

Through all the destruction, he could tell that it was almost like a small city in here. Camping stoves—probably stolen—mangled, smashed, and trampled, filled nearly an entire tunnel. In another, food was splattered against the wall and he nearly tripped on a bruised apple.

"Yaaaaah!" Two teenage girls, not older than seventeen, charged him, trying to keep him from entering the next hall. He caught one sword on his shield, the other he knocked away. It took under thirty seconds for him to decapitate the first girl.

The second one screamed in rage, advancing on him. She was pretty, he reflected. If she hadn't been a rebel he would have gladly welcomed her as one of his slaves. Unfortunately, he was on a mission here.

She got a good swing at his arm, but he turned, knocking the blade out of her hand and onto the ground. He walked forward slowly. The area behind him was clear—he had a few seconds. Carefully, he sliced off the thick leather covering her front, exposing a worn tee-shirt. She swallowed, eyeing the spot where her sword had landed. Her fear was almost palpable as she stood there, trembling. An empty knife sheath was at her belt, and he wondered how long ago she had lost that backup. Well, too bad for her.

By the dim light, he saw a drop of sweat roll down her face as they stood, facing each other, his sword touching her unprotected stomach.

There was a loud bang behind him. _Time to stop playing games, Lars, _he told himself. He twitched his arm, stabbing the girl in the stomach. With a scream, she slid forward, joining her friend on the ground, and Lars was off.

A few of his soldiers fell into step behind him as he went down another tunnel, easily taking out another group of rebels as they tried to defend.

There weren't as many Olympians in here as were expected. Most of them were probably dead or dying up above when they had come out of the sewers to defend. Disappointing, really. Including those girls, he only made about ten direct kills. But it was enough .

"Surrender!" He roared, voice echoing down the tunnel. _Surrender! Surrender! Surrender! _

Trembling, two boys stepped out of the shadows, hands over their heads.

"Round em up." Lars nodded to the nearest mortal before continuing down.

Bodies were everywhere. A few feet away, one of the tunnels had nearly caved in, and supplies were scattered all around. He watched as one of the Titan soldiers shoved some money into his pocket.

He looked down at a young man, maybe a little older than him. This was what they deserved. What they all deserved. And the ones above, the ones that had surrendered… they would serve their purposes too.

The destruction around him was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

O-o

**So in random Veritas news, we're starting a newspaper-newsletter-ezine-esque creation, called Daedalus Twenty-Three, (as in **_**Command sequence Daedalus Twenty Three. Kill Flying Pigs. Begin Activation.) **_**Any help would be greatly appreciated. For more info see the D23 page on fanmortals(dot)tk, or the D23 forum on veritaville(dot)tk. **

**Fish—**but I'm not _supposed _to be writing TYOOT right now.

**Tammy—**thanks!

**Shrrgnien—**did I mention that hereonout, you're known as Gni, because I'm tired of trying to spell your name? lol anyway yes it does. Because I should be working on other stuff. And psh.

**Hp—**that's kind of the point, I guess. They're living. Everyone else is fighting

**Wisegirl—**Um, sometimes. I try not to though because then it's harder to be objective about them.

**TheGodArgosus—**well, wait no longer, for it is here. : )

**Moonrise—**why do you think the slaves were wandering around with food? It's a rule at a lot of formal events that the food set out is mostly for appearance's sake. ;)

**Goddammit-Just-Friggin'-Tell-Me-Who: **then what would you call a girl? Dudette? That's the common one but it just sounds dumb to me. It's dude. : ) And I wrote this chapter before I posted the previous one, but I'm writing at a 2,000 word/day rate for JulNo, so I just kind of get in the swing of things. And that's an awesome quote.

**Red Fluffy Banana: **you're psychic. LOl.

****Happy birthday to dreamcatcher 96. Despite appearances, I do hope that your birthday is a good one, and you do not get stabbed, blown up, or decapitated** **

Also, if you're a silent reader, can you try and review? Doesn't have to be long. I was just wondering because there are 40 people with this story on alerts but I get on average 10 reviews per chapter. I silent read some stories, I was just wondering how many people are actively reading this…


	21. Chapter 21

_"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts."  
— __Winston S. Churchill_

Defeat, Eden reflected, tasted like vinegar. The bitter flavor that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times you swallowed or spat. Her tongue curled in on itself, she tried to stop breathing, tried to get away. But she couldn't.

"Nothing we could have done." Greg walked through now of the tunnels. By the light of her flashlight, Eden could see how pale he was. Sweat rolled down his forehead even though they had long since left the hot sun.

_Nothing? _she thought, stepping over a man in a Titan uniform. A hoard of extra fighters could have been the difference… but no, Mexico had been almost completely overwhelmed. If anything, they were lucky not to—_no, don't think that._ God, why wouldn't her thoughts line up straight? They were just mashed together in her head like spaghetti, unable to untangle, making her unable to think clearly… 

_Running through the battlefield, looking desperately for survivors. "Lydia!" Turning, desperately, hoping for some sign. "Lydia! Dawn!" Where were they? Where _were _they? _

"_Eden!" And she was running, running, leaving a trail of blood behind her, running towards Dawn's voice… running… and she came around a bend, and there they were. Dawn, propping herself up against a tree, blood curling down her cheek, and Lydia lying next to her, eyes closed, chest still…_

"_LYDIA!" _

"Elysium," Dawn whispered, a touch of desperation in her voice. "Elysium!"

Everyone fell silent, hoping desperately for a response.

"Elysium." Louder, this time, the word bounced off the walls in a panic. Every strained their ears, hoping desperately for some proof that there was still hope, still life here in the dark tunnel.

A pained breath reached Eden, but she couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"B—" The person sounded like they were having trouble breathing, and Eden pointed her light at the ground, trying to find them. She regretted the action instantly when the lone head of a girl, looking no older than seventeen, stared back at her with vacant eyes.

_The scream made her blood run cold. She knew that voice. But Rio never screamed. Ever. _

_And she was running, still running, lost and confused, finding them nearly by chance. Just as she was nearing Rio, she tripped over something and went sprawling. _

_Phoebe's head smiled back at her. _

"Bound." At least, came the word.

"Where are you?" Eden hissed, wanting nothing less than to look closely at the dead bodies. Didn't want to wonder who they were, didn't want to be sent off into another world, another time—_No. Stay here. It is now. _She could do this. "Where are you? ¿_Dondé está?" _

"_Aquí," _came a whisper. Eden could hear the sharp intake of three breaths, and she shone her light around. Dawn gasped as the headless torso came into view. Then, a few feet over—

"Eden." Dawn ran to the girl slumped next to the corpse. "Eden, can you…"

Throwing up would be very un-lieutenant like, and she tried to remember if there was anyone in the present company who cared. Greg, Dawn, Ferd, Jason and Laurel. OK, so puking wouldn't be good. She took a deep breath, then realized what a bad idea that was as the stench of rotting corpses increased.

The dark haired girl next to Dawn twitched slightly as Eden approached. And by the light of her flashlight, she was able to see just how bad the stomach wound was.

"What happened here?" Eden whispered, wondering if there were any more survivors. "What's your name?"

"_¿Qué?_"

English. Dammit. Eden looked at the people behind her in desperation. One and a half centuries of life and her Spanish was limited to _hola, dondé, qué, _and the first three numbers.

Greg stepped forward. "¿_Cómo te llama?" _His Spanish was rough, imperfect, but it worked. Eden sighed in relief, wishing Marisol or Rio was there. But they had led another party…

"Emilia," the girl was muttering, eyes closed. "_¿Emilia?" _

"¿_Tu nombre eres Emilia?" _Greg asked haltingly.

The girl shook her head and lifted one shaking finer, pointing towards the head. "_¡Emilia!" _

Eden closed her eyes tightly for several seconds before she could bear opening them again.

_The rest of Phoebe's body was lying a few feet away, blood gushing from the stump that once held up her head—_

"_Soy… soy Ariana," _the girl whispered.

Greg nodded slowly, eyes darting down to the headless corpse of the girl called Emilia. Eden bit her lip. For someone who had killed, been in so many fights, she should be able to bear this a little better. What was wrong with her?

_She stood next to the burial shroud, knowing perfectly well who was underneath it but not wanting to see her. Wanted to remember Robin as an eleven year old girl, so full of life, singing and laughing. Wanted to remember her how she lived, not how she looked at the end, eyes rotting, skin cold. But she had to. She had to say goodbye…_

_Hands trembling, she pushed the silver cloth away. _

"Ask her what happened." Ferd said. Greg translated.

_No, _Eden thought, staring at Ariana's stomach. _Let her rest. _But it would take a god to heal her—and where was Hermes? Running amok with Peter and Adam, somewhere else in the tunnel…

It took the girl a long time to say anything. And when she did, the words sounded slurred. They traile doff at the ends, and Greg looked like he was having trouble understanding. The only one Eden caught was _Kunhyi. _

"Lars Kunhyi?" she asked sharply.

Ariana nodded, resting her head back against the wall, eyes still shut. "Emilia…" she said again.

Eden reached for her sword, half expecting Lars to jump out of nowhere. But the Titans were gone. They had only seen one guard roaming the tunnels. After all, no one was alive down here…

_Thalia didn't get a shroud. There were too many pieces of her, scattered about, and no one had the heart to collect them. They just burned a few fragments of her silver jacket. And Eden held her lieutenant band in one hand, wondering if she should throw that in too. She never wanted to see it again, much less wear it. _

"It's fine," Jason said sharply. "We're alone."

The girl—Ariana—said something else, and Greg's eyebrows lifted. "_¿Dondé?" _

The finger twitched again, pointing to a wall, then dropped quickly.

"Ssh." Eden admired Dawn for being able to sit next to her, to hold her hand. To look without fear at the blood around them. The blood that was all over Eden's clothes, her hands, her feet. And the smell…

"Hermes." Jason said. "We have to get her to Hermes."

"Ferd, go." Eden said sharply, the command coming too naturally. "You have the best nose."

"Right." The clomping of hooves was the only signal of his departure in the dark.

"Tell her a god is coming," Eden said to Greg, who translated again. Ariana whispered something. All Eden could think about was how far away Hermes was and how they needed radios, but the radios would broadcast their location to anyone who cared. Unfortunately, a lot of people cared.

"Come on," Dawn muttered. "Come on, Ferd."

They had the rest of the tunnel to go through, yet Ariana was the first sign of life they had seen. They couldn't just leave her. Eden wondered if they should split up, but it was far too dangerous. Anything could be in here. Any Titan minion or hellhound, and they were already spread thin enough looking for survivors.

Minutes passed, stretched out longer in the silence. With each pained breath Ariana took, Eden wondered if it would be her last. _Ferd Ferd come back…_

The flicker of blue light was a deux ex machina, and Eden sighed in relief. "Lord Hermes." She refused to bow.

"Does she know what happened?" He asked, looking put out.

She turned away from him to roll her eyes. "Yes."

He knelt next to her, putting a hand over the stomach wound, and her gasp turned into a sign of relief. Eden watched in amazement as the skin slowly pulled itself back together. The large, angry red scar lingered.

"Clearly," Hermes noted, "The string is not yet cut."

Clearly, for Ariana was sitting up. She said something else to Greg, who turned to Eden and Dawn.

"Check the walls, she says." He looked perplexed, and had begun to question her further when she saw the head.

Dawn's hand caught her scream, trying to muffle it, and Hermes rolled his eyes.

"Mortals," he muttered.

_The last time she saw Artemis, she was being dragged away. Atlas held one arm, Kronos the other. She was kicking, swearing up a blue streak, but he held on. And Eden crouched in the bushes, desperate to help, yet too scared to move. There was no way she could take on two Titans at once. _

_As Artemis rounded a corner, Eden was sure that she saw her. For one moment, their eyes met. And her goddess shook her head, just a tiny bit. A signal. _No. Do not move.

_Still, the only thing Eden could think was that she had let her down. _

Ariana slowly started to calm, her scream breaking off into sobs. Eden shook her head. She had to get out of here…

"The walls?" Eden stood. "Let's go look… Dawn. Greg." It was an order. Hermes was there, he could interpret. The three left.

No more survivors lurked in the halls. No more breaths reached Olympian ears. Still, Eden clung to hope that there were survivors, somewhere…

The walls…

They tapped on them, whispered the code word into the cracks. Rubbed their hands all over the smooth cement, but couldn't figure out how someone would hide in there. Maybe, Eden though, Ariana was just in shock… didn't know what she was talking about…

The sewer system ended, and they ended up in what was clearly more roughly made tunnels. The boards and stone that held them up was much less sturdy, and yet somehow it had lasted a couple years without falling on anyone. Supplies were tossed every which way, and in some areas, they hadn't been disturbed at all.

No sounds lingered in this place. It was eerie, and she couldn't help but think that it was only a matter of time before something happened. Her heart thudded, and she wondered if they could hear it out there. Quiet. Too quiet.

They entered a storage room, full of weapons and, strangely, apples. This was as good a place to hide as any, and Eden again made for the walls. Maybe here…

That was when they heard the thuds.

The Hunter spun around, loading an arrow without thudding.

"Drums, drums in the deep." Greg muttered, and Dawn cracked a smile.

"We cannot get out."

Eden stared at them both, pretty sure they had both just lost their last few marbles. "Where do you hear _drums?" _

Dawn shook her head, still laughing a little. "Nothing." Darting to the door, she peeked around. Her muffled oath made Eden start, and they let the door fall closed.

"They have a cave troll." Greg said in a slightly shocked tone as someone flung themselves against the door.

"Well." Dawn grabbed an extra shield from the wall. "Good thing there is one dwarf left in Moria who still draws breath."

_Oh. _Eden rolled her eyes, wondering how they could make endless references at this time. At least they could just let it off…"We're possibly about to be fighting for our lives," she pointed out. "This really isn't the time—"

"Of course it's the time if we're about to die." And with that, the pounding increased.

_Peter. Rio. The others. What have—_

"Elysium!" An accented voice was yelling. "Elysium!"

"_Oh,_" Eden sighed. "Bound!"

But they couldn't see them. What if….

"Dawn," Eden ordered. "Open the door. Stay armed. If they attack, we'll shoot…"

Dawn did as she was ordered, but there wasn't much to worry about. Six exhausted looking men in armor stumbled in.

"We heard you," he said. "When you came by. But we weren't sure… we weren't going to give up our hiding spots when you were there…"

One of them was holding a torch, which he pointed at Dawn's face. She jumped back, fingers tightening around her arrow. But they didn't seem to notice.

"_Cazadoras._" One of them whispered, pointing from Dawn to Eden. The later frowned a little, stepping forward.

"What?"

"You are not enemies," the leader one said. "You're Hunters."

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. The relief was shooting through her system, making her a little giddy. "I'm perfectly aware of that, Mr…?"

"Bidal," he said. Then shook his head. "You are safe… they sent us to check. Come."

O-o

Of the hundreds that had been here, there were about thirty survivors. And so, so many dead bodies. It was too dangerous to stay in the tunnels, and yet she didn't have the heart to drag them away from the search for lost friends and family. She had done it herself too many times. What was the harm in staying a little longer?

By the time they got out, the sun had set. As they slipped out single file through the sewer opening, it was as if a curl of stink was leaking out. In a movie, Eden knew it would be the putrid green color that alerted people of their presence. She kept her bow half drawn as did everyone around them.

"Come on." The door was shut.

At one point she thought she saw a person come to a window, but there was nothing they could do about it but hope they wouldn't alert anyone.

"Where should we go?" Rio whispered, catching up to her. Eden shook her head slowly.

"Arizona?"

"Are you kidding me? That's like…"

"The closest we can get." Eden snapped. "Or do you know of another base nearby?"

"And you think we can just smuggle sixty people over the boarder when they know perfectly well that we're here and are probably expecting us?" Rio demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

_If I were Zoë or Thalia she wouldn't be arguing with me. _Then again, Zoë and Thalia would have had a better plan in this scenario.

"We're not selling ourselves out to any cartels or being held for ransom." Eden hissed. "We're armed and dangerous and could kick their pathetic asses. We're not those pictures you see in the paper of people having to give relatives phone numbers or—"

"_Yes, _if we meet any shifty people we could take them. That's not my _point._" Rio snapped. She stopped when she realized how loud her voice had become. "What about police? What about Titan soldiers? Even _you _alone probably couldn't go through undetected—"

No. This had gone too far. The lieutenant stopped, hands on hips, and tried to look as tall as she possibly could. The gaggle of people behind them also stopped looking wary. And a small part of her felt guilty for pulling her _I'm the lieutenant Hunter, daughter of Zeus and most wanted person in the country _card, but the sooner they got out of here, the better.

"Rio," she hissed, and the other Hunter had the decency to look down. "If you have a better plan or a safer spot, I'd like to hear about it now. If you don't then we're going to get sixty people onto a train and across into the US." Afraid she had pushed it a little too far, Eden squeezed her sister's hand. "C'mon."

They started moving again, making their way towards the train station. And again, Eden reached for the mist.

O-o

**No violence, blood or gore, but necessary nonetheless. **

_**D23 articles are due in a week. If you're planning on writing them…**_

**Also, I finished JulNoWriMo at 60k. **

**Cfaithsweetie: **I did. =) Thanks!

**Draco—**Yes, you are. And I don't get in the head of that many dying people 'cause I hate POV jumps.

**LunaPadma—**thanks XD

**Peter—**woah. Thanks. : ) haven't seen anyone go that high in awhile. I'm honored.

**Moonrise—**Yay! : ) and yes, his ego is rougly the size of China. And yes, you are. Maybe. I haven't decided his fate as of yet.

**Wisegirlindisguise—**home made chocolate chip cookies. Though brownies are nice. And chocolate cake. And M&Ms.

**Shrrgnien—**nah that's fine. And thanks : )

**Lovetoread—**yeah… I considered changing the book ending but decided against it.

**Morganic—**first review? *throws confetti and holds a party to celebrate the occasion*

**Juliet—**well, sort of. I mean… I just got a new story idea but I'll still keep doing this in my spare time. Honests.

**Dreamcatcher—**welcome

**You Know Who—**you should get an account so you can help us…

**Fishpony—**maybe both. He's rather screwed up.

**Hp—**thanks!

**Lexaa—**an excellent time if I do say so myself. And thanks! He's… Lars just wants his dad's attention though he won't admit it, and he's convinced himself he's entitled to everything.

**Critic—**True. But gory can depress you.


	22. Chapter 22

_"Christmas doesn't come from a store, maybe Christmas perhaps means a little bit more..."  
— __Dr. Seuss__ (__How the Grinch Stole Christmas!__)_

She didn't let herself look at the calendar all day. It was the same. She remembered how much she had looked forward to December 25th as a child, and now how little it mattered. Just another reminder of what had been lost. Such a small thing, yet it seemed almost like a personal attack. When she looked outside, there were no little colored lights. No Christmas carols coming from the speakers at the department stores, or from the radio. Just a silence, silence all around.

Twelve dipped her damp cloth in the bucket again and began rubbing some stain off the dining room table. She couldn't tell what it was.

It wasn't even New Years. New Years was now celebrated in March. All the small comforts of winter, gone, just leaving short days and rain.

Fifteen didn't seem to notice her mood, or affected by the date. That was the amazing thing about him. Nothing seemed to throw him. He would do the chores, but always remained himself when it came down to it. Not like the others that were opposites of the people that had arrived. Right now, for example, he was doing another Lady Gaga impersonation for the benefit of her and Six.

"_Don't call my name, don't call my name, Alejandro…_"

Six was laughing so hard she nearly spilled their water, which was when Two came to see what they were going on about. When he saw them, he mimed banging his head against the wall.

"_More _Lady Gaga? Kronos Almighty, Fif. Didn't you bother with anything else?"

Fifteen just danced closer to him, lowering his voice confidentially. "You know that I love you boy, hot like Mexico,"

Two smacked him. "I dare you to sing that to Lord Lars."

This just made Twelve and Six laugh harder. Twelve tried to picture it. She had never particularly liked Lady Gaga, and yet seeing Fif's rendition was… priceless.

"_Don't wanna kiss, don't wanna touch, just take my cigarette and hush." _

Twelve swatted him with her wet rag. "Help us."

He laughed and began cleaning one of the table legs. "_And her boyfriend's like her dad just like her dad." _

Her dad.

Twelve shook her head as she picked at a coffee stain. She had learned about him nine months ago now. And still, there had been no news. She had seen him once, from a device the Titans had put in the Mexican tunnels. The footage had been brought to Lord Lars. And there he was. Gregory Galdstrup. He was making Lord of the Rings jokes with two other teenage girls.

_That should be me, _she thought. _I was the one that loved the cave troll line. He's _my _dad. _

And she knew that Eden Emmerson had no need for a parent, that they just worked together, but why would he fight alongside other teenagers and not go find his own?

"Come on you lazies." Six marched from the room, calling over her shoulder. "I'm replacing the water."

"_I'm not your babe, I'm not your babe, Fernando." _Fifteen called after her. Twelve rolled her eyes.

"Good to know."

He finally stopped singing. "Yeah. You'd be jealous."

"As if."

"'Course you would."

She rolled her eyes. "I would _not._"

"_Alejandro, Alejandro,_" he continued in a loud obnoxious voice. Probably only because he knew Lars was out that day and wouldn't decapitate him. "_Ale-alejandro, Ale-alejandro._"

It took more exertion than it should have to get that coffee stain off the hardwood table. God, Lars was a slob.

"_Don't call my name, don't call my name… Roberto…" _

When he finished the song—that, or ran out of lyrics, Twelve wasn't sure because she hardly knew it—he took an elaborate bow.

"Bravo," Twelve said sarcastically. He drifted over next to her, carefully wiping a spot that she had already wiped.

"Merry Christmas," he said suddenly, standing on tiptoes and kissing her on the nose. Before she had time to blink, he had danced away.

"_You've left me speechless…" _

"NO MORE GAGA!" Two roared.

O-o

"Happy birthday."

Lars threw his head back and gulped some of his beer. Finally, he was legal. Not that he hadn't drunk before that—repeatedly—but now there was nothing his dad could do about it anyway.

"Finally twenty-one." Jeff nodded him. "Lars is growing up."

Lars just sloshed some beer on him. Jeff ducked it, snorting, already wasted. Ugh. At least when Lars drank he never got that bad.

"What's this wine?" His dad asked, coming over from where he had been talking to stuffy old people.

"Merlot," Lars said. "'95. I ordered a ton of it."

His dad seemed appeased. "Well, you did good." He drifted away again, leaving his son staring in shock.

_You did good. _They were the words he had always been waiting for. Ones he had wanted all the time he had fought, had risked his life, for those three words. And now when they finally came it was over wine.

O-o

It was so cold. Eden pulled her jacket tighter around her, walking slowly across the green. It wasn't snowing—she couldn't remember the last white Christmas in this area—but it was clearly below freezing. Or maybe it was just her bare feet, complaining every time she put them down on the frozen grass.

She couldn't complain, though. She had her warm jacket, and was a lot tougher than many people there. So what if she didn't have shoes, if her jeans were so worn that they didn't offer much protection against the wind? She would be fine.

Shoes were in such limited supply. Everything was. As part of Lars's rebel blocking action, every item from each store was logged, and there was an unofficial rationing system. If you bought too much of something you came under investigation. And if a shopkeeper was able to smuggle them shoes, if they stole them, they would know and guess who did it. Getting them legally was also out of the question because you needed to show proof of address to buy anything.

Staring down at her red, cracked toes, she wondered if it wouldn't be worth it. She could go herself, just swipe a pair of sneakers, or sandals, for her old ones had been ruined escaping from the train on the way back from Mexico.

"Eden? Are you coming back in?" Marisol stuck her head out of the Hunters' bunker.

"In a minute," she sighed. "I need to ask Adam about something." She made a face, hating acting as if Adam knew more than she did, even if it was true. But the other Hunter just nodded, shutting the door.

Why was it so god damn far to the council room where she had arranged to meet him? She wanted to go faster but it was as if all her limbs had locked.

_Idiot. What are you going to do if there's a fight suddenly? _

Nothing. They were completely powerless right now. It was only a matter of time before they found a way to keep tabs on all the farmers' crops, noticed the apples taken from the back of a row, and they'd be done for…

"Merry Christmas," she whispered to herself, leaning on the door. Her feet yelped in protest at the switch from grass to cement. "Merry Christmas and a happy new year."

O-o

**So for D23, I was wondering if anyone wanted to write a short bit—100-300 words—on their parents and what they think of their FF accounts, online life, et cetera. Because having a bunch of those would be awesome. **

**O-o, **

**Fishpony: **Oops. Well the beginning didn't make a whole lot of sense. And I'm glad you liked that line.

**Draco: **Sorry. I have the three POVs. At least I don't change midsentence, or usually midchapter. But there's no other way to tell the story. Sorry.

**Emily: **Thanks! : )

**Goddamyt-just-tell-me-who: **What? You've written FF but haven't posted?

**Hp: **thanks a ton! =) I wasn't sure if that chapter was just filler or not, so I'm glad you liked it.

**Moonrise: **I haven't been able to make myself write it lately though. I'll finish later. XD And I love love love the picture. It's amazing.

**Wisegirl: **Scream?

**Nicosgirl: **Thanks! Yeah he's a creepy little bastard isn't he.


	23. Chapter 23

_"There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread."  
— Mahatma Gandhi_

Dear Thalia.

I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry… I keep telling myself this, keep repeating it in the hopes that at some point it'll be true. I'm not hungry. In fact, that feeling in my stomach? It's from eating too _much, _not too little. I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry.

I think you have to give Lars credit for this one. The woodsy area we're in… there aren't a whole lot of animals. Not enough to feed two hundred people. Still, we can hunt. And we can grow some food. But we don't have space for too much, and we're lucky we have what we have.

Before it was mostly just shoes but he's found a way to keep tabs on food to. Before, we had people in the system, working with us, supplying us with food. No more. Now have to show proof of address. Whenever someone buys something they have to have an address and say who they're giving it too. There's no way we can get our hands on it, unless we go down to Eastern Washington and steal some apples. Which is a plan still in the works.

But I'm not hungry.

I can't be hungry.

We might raid stores too, but it's hard to escape when you're taking half of QFC with you. It can only be small things, and security is too good. And we have a handful of kids here… a handful of kids, some young adults. People that need to eat. Me? I can handle. I've been hungry before.

Well, ok. No. I haven't. Because Artemis was always to make us food if by some chance we weren't somewhere where we could hunt for dinner. And for the first few months here we were stealing, but that was before everyone was looking for us. But I'm not…

And I hate seeing all their faces. Because I'm supposed to be leading these people and I'm only leading them to death. Not in battle, by hunger, and that is the most painful kind. They knew they could be killed in a fight, but this is worse. When you let someone starve to death, you're saying they don't matter. It's because they ignore. But if you were killed in battle that means you're worth something. That you're worth killing, that you _mattered. _

It's been so cold this winter too. We still have last year's clothes, but like I said, it's getting harder and harder. And Hermes is no help at all. Since Demeter put that curse on him. God, I wish she had the gift of foresight…

Thalia. Thalia, I'm so hungry.

Yours

Eden

O-o

**Last call for last-minute articles. **

**Draco—**See, this isn't a story about action. It's not a story about blood and guts. If there was a fight in every chapter it would bore me to tears. Because it's not about that. It's about the characters. It's about their lives in this war. And yes, there's some blood, some battles, but not on a daily basis and not to people as high up as Eden and Lars. So they'll be some fights, some torture, some death coming up, but right now it's sort of a calm. And there aren't fights every day in wars anyhoo.

**Moonrise—**Kay wrote a LarsxEden fanfanfiction. LOL. Anyway. They might make it out alive. But this is a storm-brain story.  
…so they might not.

**HP: **Wow. Just… wow. Thanks a ton- it means a lot. It really does.

**Caitlumms—**XD yes I suppose it does.

**Nicosgirl—**I don't have a favorite. At least, not right now. If I did I would end up inflicting unnecessary suffering on that character. (That being said, I love Twelve too.)

**Wisegirlindisguise: **I don't have a dagger under my pillow. I have a flamethrower. And I think… I'm not sure. I have bits of all of em in me, you know? I feel like if I had to pick I'd say Twelve, because she's… well, somewhat normal. But I'm also a little like Eden in some ways,- in that she won't accept any other opinions but her own and takes responsibility for everything— and, yeah, some of Lars too—because I can kind of identify with his control thing too. So… that's the long answer. Basically? Beware of making characters based off yourselves.

**Fanfiction Fana—**Who will be known hereonout as "Fana"—I don't actually know 15's real name, so it's fine. XD

**Fishpony—**why would Titans celebrate the birth of Jesus?

**TheGodArgosus—**Thanks!

**Dreamcatcher—**It is, and Alejandro came out in 2010. This takes place in… *counts on fingers* 2016.

**Mfinga—**thanks!

**You Know Who—**New Years is in March because that's when the Titans won the war. So March is the year 4a.v. (after victory.)

**Shrrgnien—**Yes. XD Thanks! Yes, suddenly everyone's shipping 12/15. I wonder why… *whistles innocently*

**Greek Gods- ***sniffs* you laugh at his pain. XD jk yeah.

**Peter—**The Hunters are no starving to death. Is that enough desolation? XD And yeah I was listening to it in the car and was like _Mexico! Haha! _So yeah. Anyway, thanks =)


	24. Chapter 24

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."  
— __Stephen King__ (__Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay__)_

Lars was a genius.

He smiled to himself as he mounted the steps to the temple. A genius. Because this would work. If nothing else, it would starve them out like rationing hadn't been able to do. Yes, they had most likely taken a few hits. But this would also prove the Titans' power, and no one would ever question it again. No one would ever assist those _Olympians. _The mortals would cower meekly in their homes, as was their place, knowing that no one was more powerful.

The head of the rebel extermination unit knelt in front of the mighty statue. "Oh Gaea, Mother of the Earth," he intoned. "Please appear to me for I have a plan to eliminate all those rebels keeping you from full comfort… the ones that go and cast a dark shadow upon your name…"

He waited for a full sixty seconds. Still, the goddess didn't show up. Lars frowned. He had brought himself to ask for help, something that had been hard enough, and now he was scorned? Sitting here on his knees, begging like some common person that didn't matter?

"Please, O Goddess." He repeated. "For the security of your reign."

Two children having a water fight outside were the only thing he heard.

_Fine, _he thought furiously, standing up. _Fine. I'll just go ahead with the rationing system and hope that it works. And I'll ignore the fact that last week they somehow managed to break into a heavily guarded field and run off with thousands of ears of corn and at least a dozen trees worth of apples when the man running the farm is one of our most loyal supporters. And that they somehow managed to disappear without a trace. Damn the god of thieves._

"You do not control the Titans," a calm voice said behind him. "They do not come when called, and they are not here for your benefit. Remember that, Lars Kunhyi."

He whirled around, prepared to yell, and then instantly dropped to his knees in front of the fifteen-foot-tall woman, a near copy of whom stood at the statue just a few meters away. The statue couldn't capture her true beauty, and his first instinct—

"My Lady—"

"Let's not waste time with flattery, Lars, because yours is far too easy to see through. I am here at the urging of my brethren, because some of them, for reasons unknown, actually _care _about these meddlesome mortals. So tell me your idea and be quick about it for I have other things to attend to."

He bowed again, trying to explain as quickly as possible, trying to get over the weirdness of women bossing him around.

"You are the mother of the earth, the Titaness who—"

"I know." She said sharply. "Speak quickly."

"I have begun a rationing system to try and starve out the rebels, but as of late they have found a way around that. Now, I suggest a… blight, per se, some sort of curse that will kill all the crops growing in the Eastern Washington farms. That way that will be taken out as a food source, and it will turn the rest of the mortals against this resistance for it was they that brought this fate."

Gaea stared at him, eyes narrowed. "And what would I get out of killing what I am bound to protect?"

He swallowed, heart still beating at a rabbit's pace. "Well, this little rebellion would die out and you Titans would not have to concern yourselves with the mortals, nor worry that your traitorous children might someday manage to challenge you again."

As though it was timed, the shouting voices of the children faded away outside as they left with their parents. And a cold wind picked up, leaking in through the temple pillars and making goose bumps rise on Lars's arm.

"Not all Rebels are at the Seattle camp. You want me to wipe out the whole country?"

"The leaders are, you see. And if the rebellion was leaderless it would be quite hard hit. And, disorganized, we could take them out far more easily. You saw what we accomplished in Mexico."

"I did not, I merely heard a rumor. The earth does not trouble itself for such things. Tell me, Lars, how goes the battle against Global Warming?"

He dipped his head. "You may have to ask the scientists about that for my job involves rebel obliteration."

He thought of the word obliteration on the spot, but it fit the situation nicely. It called to mind the image of the dead rebels. Emmerson. Johnson. Galdstrup. Sol. A heap of dead girls in silver jackets. Decapitated satyrs lying in their beloved woods. And a peaceful reign so that he could finally be free to do whatever the hell he wanted. He had always longed to see Germany.

"I see." Her voice was cold. "I shall wipe out crops where I see fit, and nowhere else. And I will not be doing you favors again. I fully expect many large sacrifices for years to come for this favor. Don't kid with me. We both know that it is for your life and job security that you called upon my help."

How, he wondered, could something so beautiful speak to him like this? Treat him as though he did not matter. He was still gazing in awe as she vanished, dissolved into the August air.

It had been a long time since he had begun the rationing. Too long. They had figured out how to get around it months ago, and this moment had been too long in coming.

And Emmerson? She'd probably survive. She was strong enough, that he knew. When she, and maybe Johnson too, were left alone, the rest of their army dead, he would be able to find them easily. Cut them up into tiny pieces, like Zeus had done to Kronos and like Kronos would have done to Zeus if Rhea hadn't reasoned him out of it.

Once they were both in pieces, he'd hang their heads above the entrance to Pioneer Square.

O-o

"Hey Dad!" He called, flinging the front door open. "Dad!" The ultimate idea. Those rebels were going to die and then they could go off and see all sorts of cool places. Maybe they could even go to the Galapagos Islands. The Doctor _had _wanted to go there, and then maybe, finally, he'd realize what a great thing his son had done. They could buy a vacation house in Hawaii, and England, and Brazil. _The girl from Ipanema goes walking… _

"Dad!" He yelled again, eager to share the news. He was a genius. And all the history texts would say so, agree the Lars Kunhyi had saved them all…

"Your father is out," said Short Little Asian Boy, looking up from where he was polishing some silverware.

"Did I ask you to speak?" Lars snarled, turning and jogging up the stairs. How dare his dad go off when his son wanted to speak with him?

On the other hand, if his dad went out, it meant he had the house to himself…

**O-o**

**Avenger! Hi! **

**Peter- **Well, they'll probably have to now won't they. XD

**Draco—**Actually, people starving is very important because it makes them do stuff that makes them do other stuff and that causes something else to happen. And furthermore, the letters to Thalia are just that. They're letters. I never change POVs there—I actually hate chad nging POVs mid-chapter in general- so. Don't worry. Said other stuff involves blood, guts, and death.

**ThaliaGrace—**I… Thanks! =) *hugs*

**Mooonrise—**XD yeah, I'm hungry now too. Luckily I _do _have food in the house, even though there's not much since my mom hasn't gone to Costco in like a month.

**Fishpony—**what's your favorite book ever?

**Lovetoread—**oh, Hermes can't mess with food and crops because he ticked her off awhile back.

**Goshdarnit Just Friggin Tell Me Who: **Demeter cursed him awhile back and so he can't mess with foodstuffs. It's in one of the letters. I think the most recent one.

**HP—**Yeah. The siege is almost exactly right, since, I guess a lot of times that's what a siege _is, _this time they're just not physically surrounding the place.

**Fana—** : | yeah. He is kinda useless lately but you'll see more of him in the next chapter. And no, you should just know that I can't spell worth a damn and so I don't want to keep double checking. I do that to a lot of people :D


	25. Chapter 25

**Yes, shoot me for the ridiculously long quote. But see, I looked and looked and couldn't think of any for this chapter. So in desperation I typed 'hunger death torture' into the goodreads quote search. And this is the only option I got. And it made me laugh. So… for your reading pleasure (and no offense intended for any who are religious): **

_"Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you'd expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would've been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say "this guy", because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man. _

_No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he's at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn't give a shit. Doesn't give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results."  
— George Carlin_

Life sucked.

No one knew this better than the dark haired four year old girl, cradled in her mother's arms, unable even to cry. Hardly able to breathe. Even from the other side of the room, Eden could count each of her ribs. See her skinny, skinny arms and legs that could no longer hold her up.

"Julie," she started, and then stopped. "Julie I—"

The mother shook her head sharply. "Don't. Just…"

It was like her own stomach fell out, and she flinched back. Because it was her fault. She had started this, dragged Julie into it, and then Hope… she was the leader, the lieutenant, and she was unable to feed them. Because now Hope was dying and all she could do was sit here, unable to think her way past Lars's blight…

They had to do something

Of course, they had realized this, time and time again. But what could they do? Run off with a whole QFC? That might feed two hundred people for a week. Two if they were careful. It was something, but not enough. Not enough. Still. The latest plan was the ships down at the port. But could they get there soon enough? Before everyone got so hungry that they couldn't fight?

She slid her hand over to her own stomach, feeling the strange cavity.

Hope turned her head slightly, and Eden bolted, feeling the shiver in one palm. It wasn't as strong as it would have been. She didn't think she could blast anything to save her life. Was that a good thing? She wasn't sure. Strange that she sort of missed it.

"Hermes," she snapped, finally tracking him down on what had been the green. It now had large pieces missing from where a few desperate people had taken to eating the grass. "Lord Hermes?" She remembered just in time to incline her head a little. It was easier to get him to listen to you if you pretended to be acting humble.

"Emmerson."

Hermes was the only one that was still strong, was in good health. Gods did not need to eat. They just enjoyed it.

"Can you…"

"No." He did not stop to even inquire as to what she was talking about. He already knew.

She narrowed her eyes. "She's only four. She's dying."

He tossed a spear, clearly more for something to do than anything else, for he pierced the bulls eye with ease.

Furious at his nonchalance, she raised her own bow, hitting the back of the spear shaft dead-on. It split the wood, all the way down the shaft until the spearhead was just attached to two half-pieces, flopping uselessly against the target.

If she had thought this would make him take her more seriously, she was sorely mistaking. He just shrugged.

"Artemis taught you well."

"Yeah. The gods left me to die and now I'm saving your sorry asses," she snapped, finally losing her temper. "And now you're just—"

"There's _nothing I can do for that kid,_" he snarled. "You forget your place, Emmerson."

"My place?" She took a step closer, even though that was likely the most idiotic thing she could do. But she couldn't see, couldn't think. Red tinged the edges of her vision. "I think you forget yours. You don't rule us, Lord Hermes. We managed for years before you came along. We're trying to restore your powers. We're not your servants. Just because that little girl has no more significance to you than the family dog—actually, most people give a shit about the dog. You don't."

The ground a foot or so away from her exploded as he turned around, eyes burning in fury.

"I could kill you in an instant."

She wasn't scared. She was too hungry for fear. And anyway—"less than an instant, I'm sure. But that might put you in an awkward position. You're alone, Hermes. You don't have any fellow gods with you. We're what you're stuck with."

"I can't stop death. It would be too easy to cause yours."

"Yes," she said coldly. "And I can turn your supporters against you. I could turn you back over to the Titans where you could spend several millennium holding up the sky."

She touched her face, and realized there were tears there. _Huh. _Why was she crying? For Hope, who didn't know a life outside of camp, and likely never would? Because of Hermes, and his indifference? Or for herself, because she was so hungry…

_Some day Hermes is going to get off his fuckin' horse and realize that he isn't all that special. _And normally he wasn't. Normally he was fine, if condescending… _He doesn't give a shit about our lives. We're like… ants. _

Her feet moved on their own, away from where Hermes was throwing her a taunting look, back across their choppy field. Past the kitchen, where a deer was being carefully divided into two hundred pieces. Past the Hunters bunker, which contained a century old ten year old girl, who had survived two Titan wars and was now losing a fight to hunger. Eden couldn't stand there and watch anymore as Lily died.

_Died. _

No. She couldn't die. Because she loved fairy tales and chicken drumstick and camp songs. Because she had idolized Thalia, and now Eden, and was always really excited when they asked her to do something. She was Lily, the white flower that floated on the water, and she couldn't die.

Not if Eden could save her.

Eden quickly walked to one end, staring out at where Lake Washington was just visible through the trees. The Port of Seattle. The raid they had planned there was set for a matter of days, but she still felt it was too far off. A condition could decrease dramatically in that time, and they needed all strength possible. Starving warriors could not win.

A thought nagged at her: They hadn't heard from Jason and Castor in at least two days. They had been sent to scout out the area. But that meant nothing; there were all sorts of reasons they would be unable to make contact…

Still.

"Greg," she called, turning around. He wasn't anywhere in sight. What had she been thinking? Had she just become so used to his presence that she automatically looked for him? Shaking her head, she marched towards the council room. She would just page him.

A loud wail came from the hospital bunker. She froze, chills shooting up her spine. Was it—no—

She spun around, dashing in, but slowing before she reached the place that she had just left. The sounds of the commotion was becoming all too familiar. The yells, the sobs. A few people pushed past her, and Julie's sobs were the loudest.

Hope.

Hope, no.

Hesitantly, she took a step forward. Hope's little body was laid out on a stretcher as they tried to restart her heart.

_Why bother? _Eden wondered, unable to help but feel a small ounce of relief. Because Hope wasn't hungry anymore, she wasn't hurting… _why are you thinking that? Why the hell are you thinking that?_

She looked so small, so sad. Hair dull and lifeless, a skeleton covered in skin.

Julie and the woman performing CPR didn't look much better.

"Stop." Eden whispered. "Just stop." But no one heard her.

She could feel it again, stronger than before. And again, she turned, and fled out into the open, pushing past all the people streaming in, attempting to be of some help.

A life flitted past her eyes. She saw Hope as a teenager, kissing a dark haired boy behind a building. She saw a wedding, filled with white flowers and Beatles music. She saw another child, the spitting image of Julie, wailing in a bassinet. She saw the tears of a divorce. A bestselling novel. She saw an old woman surrounded by grandchildren.

And then the images faded, settling down in the tiny body in the hospital. The years would die with her.

And then Eden lost it.

The explosion sent Hermes's target flying into the air.

O-o

"_This strange blight that has wiped out much of Washington's food sources is said to be caused by the Titans, angry about rebel activity." _

Twelve's eyes felt like they were going to be stuck in the back of her head as she tried to catch a glimpse of the screen while washing Lars's foot.

"_There are signs that the Olympians are suffering from starvation…" _

"Heck yeah," Lars muttered.

_Dad, _Twelve thought, trying to appear calm. _Dad. _How was he? Was he doing a little better? Was he dead? Was he hungry?

There was no way she could get an answer and she knew it. Still, she had to force herself to appear calm as she stood, bowing respectfully, cut foot finally clean.

Lord Lars was just staring at the screen. Finally, he turned.

"Hey you!"

Twelve jumped, afraid that—but no, if so he—he couldn't know—

"Yes?"

"I'm putting you on basement duty," he ordered. "There's someone who needs tending to."

_Basement duty? _

That was something that only the lower number slaves did. Her stomach clenched, and she had the urge to throw up. The stories Three and Four told—of tortured prisoners that weren't allowed to die yet, of the dark tunnels, the reek of urine that the slaves had to try and get out before Lord Lars went down there. Cleaning blood off walls, listening to screaming—

_Shut up. _

She bowed stiffly. "Yes, sir. Do you require my presence now?"

"Cell 29. I'd like it clean before I go tend to the occupant."

She shivered, but fled.

O-o

"Twenty-nine?" One rolled her eyes. "What'd you do to piss him off, Twelvie?"

"Huh?" Twelve stuck a large sponge in a bucket. At least—and it was a small, petty comfort—it would be less embarrassing, acting the slave to someone in far worse conditions.

"Lord Lars. You _do _know who's in Twenty-Nine, right?"

_I really want to bash you in the head with this sponge, One. _"Sorry, _Onesie._" Could she be any more superior? "I have no idea. No one actually informed me who was in cell Twenty-Nine." She froze. _What if it's—_but if anyone important had been caught it would have been on the news. Lars would be in a far better mood…

"It's a rebel," One whispered.

Twelve stopped with one hand on the doorknob. "Thanks, genius." Those were the only people locked up in Lars's dungeon. No, not dungeon. _Containment Center _was what it was called. Built under his house so that it had excellent security and he could do his torturing in his pajamas.

Not waiting to hear the name, she just slammed the unassuming door. It could have been a closet. Or just a normal basement. No guest or intruder would guess what was behind it: One flight down was the slaves' quarters. And below that…

She could barely see the numbers over the cells. Twenty six, twenty seven…

Cell Twenty Nine should have been obvious. She could smell it. While most of the others were empty, this one had a strong odor of blood and urine…

It took her a few tries to open the door—the key was shaking in her hand. The man inside flinched.

"Relax," she told him, unsure if she was to speak to him or not. "I'm just here to clean up. Your cell reeks."

His mouth opened wide, and he rubbed his eyes a few times. "You look familiar…" his voice was slurred, tired, pained. Twelve couldn't imagine what Lars had done to this poor guy, and she didn't want to try.

There was too much silence. "What's your name?" she asked, dipping her sponge in soapy water. There was dried blood on the ground, and she had the feeling that she was about to lose her lunch.

"Jason," he mumbled, squinting at her.

Should she—could she—She shone her flashlight around the cell. Smooth cement walls. Nowhere to hide a bug or a camera. Still…

She knelt next to him, heart thudding. If she was caught—if someone heard—but she had to know, and this might be her only chance.

The broken form in front of her barely moved as she leaned closer. "Gregory Galdstrup," she whispered. His eyebrows raised and he turned to look at her.

"You've been sent to interrogate me?" His voice was a little more steady now as he realized.

She shook her head vigorously, realizing what it might sound like. But his eyes were narrowing, concentrating, as he stared…

"Do you know him?" she whispered. "Is he OK?"

"I know 'im," Jason muttered. "He's in my bunker. Why do you want to know?"

Twelve swallowed, reaching up to touch the family crest on her forehead. The one that would never disappear.

"Because—"

The words died in her mouth as the door was opened. She instantly turned away and began scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing at the blood.

"Hey." Lars appeared at the bars. "Jason. Nice to see you again."

Jason gritted his teeth. Twelve could see his jaw move, one of the only things he could. And when he moved again, she could see the bloodstains on the wall where he had been. She bit her lip, terrified of what Lars's presence meant…

"Can't exactly return the sentiment, Kunhyi."

A shadow of a smile danced around Lord Lars's lips. "Hey, you," he added, pointing.

_Did he hear—_She wouldn't let herself look afraid as she turned to face him.

"Help me get this oaf to the information room."

Her father would have drawn his sword. Eden Emmerson would have spat in his face. Rosa Parks would have sat down next to Jason and refused to budge. All these images flitted past her.

But she was not a hero. She was no one that mattered. She was a slave.

So she knelt next to Jason and helped pull him to his feet.

O-o

**D23 comes out on Wednesday. Rah rah rah an' all that : ) **

**RIDE-to-the-MAX: **Thanks! And no I shouldn't, but what am I doing now? Not editing CG, that's fer sure. Anyway. Glad I could alleviate the boredom XP

**Goddammit-If-You-Don't-Tell-Me-Who-I'll-Kick-Yer-Ass: **He has some. Not many. He wets himself later. (No quote? : ( )

**Morganic: **Not really. On Tuesday I was ready to hit my mom with an oversized inflatable mallet, but yesterday we were besties. Parent/child relationships are weird things.

**Cookiemonster: **Greg has no idea that she's alive.

**Draco: **Do you like Brazil? And I'm sorry. Hope didn't like starving to death either… and Rhea? She's Kronos's wife… are you confusing her with Gaea? \

**Moonrise: **Yeah. Well, obviously not better XD but I get what you mean. I'll try and work that in later… I just tend to avoid character description. (Do you even know what Lars looks like?)

**Shrrgnien: **Kill a character? _Me? _Naw.

**HP: **well… it wasn't filler. Since he just killed a ton of people. But yeah. This one's longer.

**Peter: **You don't want to know.

**Fana: **Hermes? Hermes annoys the cheezpuffs outta me. But… *shrug*

**Fish: **The gods didn't take good care of it did they. And she's with whoever's in power.

**O t h e r s I d e o f l I f e: **The autocapitalization when I type your name amuses me. And yeah. That was Fifteen. For the record.


	26. Chapter 26

_"Something was wrong with Luke," Annabeth muttered, poking at the fire with her knife. "Did you notice the way he was acting?"  
"He looked pretty pleased to me," I said. "Like he'd spent a nice day torturing heroes."_

_-Rick Riordan _

Lars paused at the end of the hall, glancing back. The man looked maybe two or three years older than him, dark hair and a scraggly beard. Typical rebel riffraff. Shaking his head, he continued leading them forward, hand on his knife just in case they attacked from behind.

Enough rebels had been caught over the years for Lars to fully test and enhance his Information Room for optimal pain, which, of course, led to the most intelligence. That being said, no one of high status had ever been here before, and previously he had been unable to learn anything very important. In the beginning he had demanded to know where the rebel bases were, but some oath kept them from answering. It was as if they physically _couldn't. _And so he had known nothing.

That, he reflected, was about to change.

This rebel—Legweak— wasn't putting up a fight, which was good, because he probably would have been able to take the slave out. Still. He was too smart for that. That or he knew that Lars would slowly torture him to death. (He _did _know that didn't he?)

Lars insisted that the slave and the rebel lead the way down the next set of stairs, in case the rebel managed to overpower Slave and give him a push. Not that he would ever fall for such a trap, but he didn't want to be stupid.

After all, _I always think everything is a trap. That's why I'm still alive. _Again, he remembered watching the movie with his dad as a little kid, and again, he couldn't remember what it was.

The Information Room was on the lowest level, three below the main floor. It had that dungeon atmosphere, something that made him feel like a member of the Spanish Inquisiton. The dark walls, the stone, the ugly florescent lights.

Lars turned. "Be nice, slave," he said with exaggerated politeness. "offer our guest a seat." The slave hesitated, but when he turned to glare, she put him down in a normal rolling desk chair. Or what would have been a normal rolling desk chair if it hadn't been heavy metal with thick chains. Legweak didn't even try to struggle. Did he know it would be useless, or was this his attempt at being brave? Like he was Robin Hood, or something?

It didn't matter. What mattered is the information he could feel at his fingertips.

_Oh, Emmerson. You don't know what you're getting yourself into. _

"Now, look here." With one hand, he indicated the metal plate a few feet away. "This is your average burner." He paused, searching for signs of terror on Legweak's face, but said face remained blank. "Well, not burner, though it does burn quite well. This is more like a… a hotplate. A real burner was a fire hazard. Very painful to the touch." Still, no reaction. "And over here… this is a stretcher. Have you ever read Harry Potter?" Harry Potter himself was disgustingly weak and unambitious, but there were some characters in there that he greatly respected. The Lestranges, for example. They never stopped fighting for their side. He wished he had them for his army.

"Yes," Legweak said stiffly after a quick poke.

"Then you'll remember the line, _you should be hanging by your thumbs in the dungeons_? I believe Filch says it. Well, you don't need to go to Scotland to hang by your thumbs. You can do that here—it would take me only a few seconds to make the arrangements. I hear it gets very uncomfortable after about ten minutes though." He pointed to the device hanging from one ceiling.

Still, the rebel's face was blank. He could have been in math class for all the reaction he gave. Clearly, he was afraid. Anyone would be in this situation. He just hid it well. Lars continued to give him the tour, though, just for fun. The only other person he had shown this room too was his dad, and the Doctor hadn't seemed to be impressed by all the work he had put in.

"And over here are the more basic tools. I have five different sizes of hammers. The little one here?" he lifted it, making sure that the rebel was pointed so he could see everything Lars was doing. "This one is for breaking fingers—a thumb here, a thumb there. But this big heavy one is for tougher things like legs and kneecaps. Maybe a skull."

Was that a flicker of fear Legweak's eyes? Lars stared a moment but couldn't see anything else. His list of questions was folded in his pocket. He _would _get the answers if he had to use all the things in here to do it.

"And this is the, shall we say, sprinkler." He lifted a heavy piece of metal on a long stick. The top was full of small holes and it looked sort of like a wiffle ball. "This I can fill up with molten lead or glass. It would hurt to have this shaken in your face, would it not?"

No fucking reaction. Emmerson had trained her minions well.

"And over here… This is the Rack. I found a picture of it online. It actually was invented by some guys in the Medieval age. This pulls you in all different directions, and essentially dislocates every bone in your body. Sound fun?"

Physical health was important for a rebel. They couldn't survive crippled. Lars knew this, and he knew that Legweak knew it. And yes, that was fear. It had to be.

Smiling—they were almost through, he would have his answers shortly—"And this? This is what happens if you refuse to speak. If your use runs out. This is the Wheel, see? We strap you to it, and you go round and round. It slowly crushes all your bones." He had only killed one person on the Wheel, and that was out of anger. Still, it had been an educational experience. The screams he had gotten proved how much control he had, and the begging? Pathetic.

"I have various other things over here—but I supposed you're just ready for your question and answer session, right?"

No response. Again.

"Oh, wait." He_ had _forgotten this one. His favorite, too. "This is my pet invention, the H.O.C.M. What do you think it stands for?"

Finally the prisoner spoke, though not fidgeting in his chair. "Horrible Occut…"

"Wrong," Lars snapped. "It stands for the Hands-Off Castration Mechanism. See? You take off your pants and sit in this chair, and we stick your dick through that hole there. Then we ask you questions, and every time you give us the wrong answer, we—_I—_pull those handles closer together and sharp knives come at it from either side, pressing in harder and harder. Eventually it just falls off."

And that was clearly a look of fear and disgust on Legweak's face. Good. Lars smiled, satisfied.

"Now, I figure, to be fair, I'll ask you this up front. Before we go to the burner." He lifted one of the knives, twirling it on his palm. "You were out scouting the Port. I'm sure your Olympian friends are planning on attacking a supply ship. And once you attack you have various emergency routes." Bending over, Lars stared him in the eye. "_Which route would Emmerson take back?" _

Silence.

"Well, then." Lars waved the slave over. "Strap him to the burner."

O-o

Twelve dashed up the stairs and into the slave chambers, tossing her sponge over her shoulder.

_Six steps to the bathroom. Five steps to the bathroom. _

She fell to her knees in front of the lone toilet, and the little she had eaten for lunch came back up. It wasn't a very impressive barf, not compared to her insides, still rolling, looking for something to offer…

"Twelve!" A knock on the bathroom door. "Twelve are you OK?"

Six?

"Yeah."

The door creaked loudly as it was opened and Six and Fifteen tromped in. For a second Twelve was tempted to yell '_This is the girls' room!' _but them remembered that there _was _only one bathroom. Strange, the habits that still hadn't worn off.

The room was hardly a bathroom anyway—narrow, dark walls, a mirror, a showerhead with no curtain, a rusted sink, a grey tile floor. It gave Twelve the impression of a tomb. A tomb… or, Lars's torture chamber.

She swallowed, staring at the wall, wanting more than anything to erase those images from her mind.

"What did he do?" Fifteen was incapable of ever sounding angry—right now he just gave off the impression of a wounded animal.

Twelve shook her head slowly, leaning forward again. Six reached up, pulling Twelve's hair from her face as small amounts of acid landed in the metal bowl.

"Fifteen, can you go look for more food for her to eat later?" Six asked. He seemed to miss her pointed tone, because, nodding eagerly, Fifteen scampered off. The door fell shunt with a solid thud. Just like Legweak's cell door when she took him back, when he refused to look at her, when she tried to tell him she was sorry, she was just a slave…

"Twelve... what _did _he do?" she asked.

Twelve swallowed again. Her throat burned. "The rebel, Jason Legweak…" his scream was trapped in her skull, bouncing off the sides. "He was caught out scouting around the Port of Seattle. And Lars wants to know emergency escape routes because he knows he can't learn the rebel base because of that curse thinger Emmerson put on it… But he can get em as they run from Port… and Legweak wouldn't tell him… so first he… he's describing all his torture devices. They're—they're _terrible, _Six. So painful. And then…" She pressed her hands against her eyes. "He made me roll his—the rebel's—chair forward and strap his hand to the burner.

"And then he asked again, but Legweak didn't say anything. So he turned the burner on. And Legweak jerks back, like you do when you touch something hot, but he couldn't move his hand." And she had stood there watching as one of her father's fellows was tortured. But the words were coming out now, fast, too fast.

"And his skin… he was shaking and trying not to scream, you could tell, and his skin blistered and turned red and after about twenty seconds he couldn't help it, he was screaming, and Lord Lars—" _Does he seriously enjoy doing that to people? _There had been this tiny sadistic smile on his face the whole time. "Lars asks him again and he doesn't say anything, so then Lars turned the burner off and—" She doubled over again, gasping for breath, tears now rushing from her eyes.

Next to her, Six twitched a little, but didn't say anything.

"And it was all black, you could see bone… his hand, I mean. His hand. And he wasn't screaming anymore, I guess his nerves died or something, didn't say anything, I guess he was sort of in shock… and Lars got kind of mad…" Twelve stopped, wondering if she'd said too much. The walls appeared to be pressing closer, closer, in correlation with the lack of air in here.

"What did he do?" Six whispered, looking pale. Paler than a ghost, paler than Ten. Twelve wondered why she was saying so much, but there was no way to stop. Not now.

"He had me put Legweak's hands on this wooden block and another block goes on top and there's a metal clamp or something and he presses this lever and the blocks slowly crunch together, crushing all the bone…"

She rubbed her own hands. Thin, but complete. Put together. She flexed her fingers, thinking of all she used them for—cleaning and cooking and poking Fifteen and getting dressed in the morning. And Legweak used his for so much more—fighting. He wouldn't do any more of that now. He had probably once taken them for granted too, though.

"And he still wasn't talking and Lars slowly, slowly pressed down on the lever, and you could hear the bones crunching, so slowly, and Lars smiles like it's a great game and Legweak was just _screaming… _and then Lars asked his question again. And while he was doing that he was staring at the Rack and you just _knew _that's what he's going to do next."

Twelve stopped once more, and it was as if the walls were even closer this time. They were about to crush her.

"And did the rebel tell him?" Six said softly, fingers tightly woven together.

Again, Twelve swallowed, wondering what that burn in her throat was. She forced herself to nod.

_He's after my dad. He's going to find my dad. _

She had an image of her father sitting in the torture chair, and her head spun. The walls were coming down on top of her.

"Twelve?" Fifteen's voice leaked through the cracks as he reentered, empty handed.

The door seemed very far away. She couldn't breathe in here anymore. The ceiling was crushing her. She had to get out.

O-o

**Hear Ye Hear Ye**

**Daedalus Twenty-Three is released. Read it at **

**issuu(dot)com(slash)d-23(slash)docs(slash)September**

**Also anyone who wants to write a short blurb on what their parents think of their FF accounts would be loved forever. **

**Here is what I have to say to other people who are loved forever: **

**Peter:** Yeah. The gods are kind of asses, aren't they? I'm not sure what I'm going to do about that.

**RIDE: **Eh. I guess it's good. I'm going to *try* to finish this before NaNo but I probably wont.

**Moonrise: **And here's another long chapter… and yeah maybe that's a good plan XDD

**Fana: **He just seems so condescending, you know?

**TELL ME WHO ALREADY: **Yeah… Twelve's kind of stuck isn't she? Writing 10,000 words? Good luck! : )

**Morganic: **Yeah. Well, the fighting and death aren't back but the torture sure is :D

**Fishpony: **I never saw the gods as nice people.

**Hp: **But Lars also doesn't notice the slaves. At all. (Except Ten) so maybe she's going under the radar after all XDD and you're not annoying. *shakes head vigorously* and Lars _is _a son of Athena

**Shrrgnien: **Life _is _fear, highness, and anyone who tells you different is selling something. (Actually it's pain, but I couldn't resist a chance to quote now could I?) I might kill Fif. And I might not. *shrugs and whistles*

O-o

_So something Moonrise said made me think of this, and now I'm curious—how do you imagine the characters? Because I have them in my head a certain way, but yours are probably totally different… so I'm curious. Anyway. _


	27. Chapter 27

_"The Lower City is MINE, Its People are MINE.  
If I Find Them That's Doing All This Kidnapping  
And Murdering, They'd Best Pray For Mercy,  
Because Once I Get My Teeth In 'Em  
I Will NEVER Let Them Go. "  
— Tamora Pierce (Terrier)_

The shadowy figures, framed by the window—they were the only things that moved on the dark street. It was the only lit window in the area; most sane people were probably asleep. No cars came past. Still, Eden crouched behind a bush, making double-and-triple certain that no one was coming. They had split up on the way to the Port, hoping not to raise suspicion, but she was starting to wish that they'd moved as a large group. More obvious, but more fighting power.

Checking to make sure her hood was still on, she stepped out into the yellow light of the street lamp. She could hear the light shuffling of feet around her as the others followed.

Two blocks down, a trip through a back yard, through the nature preserve, and they would be in the clear. At least, until they reached their fight at the Port…

"Rio, watch our backs," she whispered. "Willow, keep an eye on the right. Maxwell, the left."

The footsteps. Hardly audible, yet they still made Eden flinch. All it would take was one of those people to wonder why several teenagers were walking past, faces covered by hoodies. _They probably won't think anything of it, _she consoled herself. _It's not _that _unusual. _

Halfway down the block. Almost there. That was when Willow stopped.

Without even thinking, Eden and Rio loaded their bows. Max drew his sword. And they all looked around for an enemy to attack.

There wasn't one.

Eden tried to calm her frantic heart rate. Surely that would give them away. They would be able to hear the drumlike sound from miles off… or they would see her breath, hanging in the cold air…

"Willow, what's wrong?" Rio mouthed. Willow shook her head slowly.

"Something," she muttered. "I don't know. I have this feeling…"

The hairs on the back of Eden's neck stood up as she felt it too. A presence. A watcher. Something she should have detected earlier. Or was it just paranoia?

No, Willow had felt it. And Willow was usually right.

"We need to clear out," Eden muttered. "Come on." She took off at a run, sneakers squeaking softly against the pavement. The sound was magnified as the others followed. But there was something wrong with this street. They had to get away, away, as fast as they could.

Almost to the end of the block. There. Reaching the intersection. The small moments were the only ones that registered. Slowing by habit, looking around for cars or people or monsters.

Was it the hesitation? Were they too slow? Or had they been at the intersection the whole time? She would turn those few seconds over in her mind, again and again, wondering if there had been another option.

Max cried out a warning, but it was cut off as the spear pierced his neck.

O-o

Three arrows hit the dracaena less than two seconds later. Eye, neck, chest. She stumbled, hissing curses as she dissolved.

"Three point arrow," Eden commanded. The three Hunters turned, back to back, bows loaded. Waiting.

Maxwell lay still on the ground.

Thirty seconds ago he had been alive, running with them. There wasn't even time to process this latest development. Not time to miss him.

She couldn't pretend to know him very well. She didn't know who his parents were or what had brought him to the Olympians. She didn't know what he had liked to do, and had barely carried out a conversation with him. Still. There he was, on the ground, soul descending into the underworld. He hardly knew what hit him.

The monsters were coming at them from all sides, practically melting out of the bushes. _How the hell did they know where we were? _Eden wondered, shooting something—she couldn't tell what—between the eyes. As a precaution, they had changed the date of the attack so that Jason wasn't able to sell them out. _Maybe they've been here for days. _She told her pessimistic voice to shut up. It was just a patrol. They could take out these monsters around them easily—hadn't they done as much before? 

No time to be scared. No time for panic. Just to fight, fight as hard as she could. And they would get out alive. Make it down to the Port, missing one—

Remembering, she hit a random button on her wrist.

"Eden?" asked Ferd's voice in her earpiece. Ferd. Not who she really wanted to be talking to. But this wasn't any time to be choosy. She whipped out her sword, blocking a swing from what looked like a mortal.

"Under attack at 55th and 24th," she managed.

"Telling General Galdsturp to send aid. Cell 21 is only a half mile away."

She hated having to call for backup. She wanted to be able to take them out on her own. _Try, Eden. Blow something up. You can get out of here. _But she couldn't. It was just water and blood in her body. Nothing special, nothing extra. Nothing like the adrenaline she could sometimes use to her advantage.

"Copter!" Willow gasped behind her. Eden kicked a mortal in the chest, knocking him over backwards, before glancing to where the other Hunter was pointing. But it was audible now, the grinding sound, shattering the silence.

The clang of metal on metal. The gasps of the wounded. The helicopter. On what sixty seconds earlier had been a quiet street, more lights were turning on, more faces at the window.

_Ok, so maybe help isn't a terrible idea. _Half a mile was too much though.

The helicopter stopped above them, hovering in place.

"Watch for attacks from the air," Eden warned. "They might—"

"_Willow look out!" _Rio's shriek was louder than anything yet, and Eden saw another light turn on. But Rio—where was— what was that _thing, _it was coming close

The net was falling. Eden dove out of the way, _oomphing _as a knife hit the armor covering her back.

For a moment, there was only the relief that it had missed her. She heard it hit ground a few feet away, could see it swinging out of the corner of her vision. Eden raised her sword, trying to block a stab.

"Eden! Wilow!"

_Oh no. No no. Willow. _The net had missed her, yes. But…

Willow was above them, sawing at the netting with an arrowhead, but was barely able to leave a mark on the wire. And she was moving up, up. With another shriek, Rio jumped, using a mortal's head as a springboard. Going higher than any human should have been able to.

Standing, feet lodged in the netting, Rio began to saw at the cable connecting net and copter.

This was not happening. No. Not Willow. Not Rio. _No_.

There were very few monsters left on the ground. She had to get up to where the chopper was. That was the only clear thought in her mind. Get there. And somehow the rest would work out.

She could finally feel it, the tingling in her fingertips, stranger than it had been since hunger became the norm. Desperation, she realized, was stronger than anything.

The white light sent the remaining monsters flying in pieces.

She could hear Willow screaming as their feet disappeared into the cabin of the helicopter. Eden looked up again, searching for some weakness. The copter dropped a little lower.

Of course. They wanted to catch her too. She was probably higher priority than the others. It would have been the plan all along.

_They want me to go. _And she would. She had to. She had to get them out. She was the lieutenant, and that came first. Before her life, before the revolution. Her duty was to the Hunters.

Leaving Maxwell's body along with the Titan mortals, too full of panic to wonder if that was okay, she ducked into the shrubbery. The copter was moving slowly now, hardly crawling.

They were waiting for her.

And she was ready for them.

She had never tried this before—until a second ago, the idea had never even crossed her mind. But she was on an insane rush of adrenaline, and didn't stop to wonder if she could do it.

The light shot out of her palms, two condensed beams, like lightning. They curled around the helicopter. And then her feet were off the ground and she was shooting _up, up, up, _as if those beams were a bungee cord, finally landing on top.

No time to take in the view—Seattle's trees and rooftops. No time to realize what she had just done. No time to worry that she might be hit by those rotating blades and have her insides splattered all over the sidewalk. Hanging onto the tail, she leaned forward on her belly.

;Opening the window was easy—a kick and a nudge. And then swung inside.

O-o

They hadn't been expecting her. They had thought she would climb a tree. And clearly the man hadn't been expecting the marble sized ball of white that exploded in his chest, leaving a good sized hole.

She hardly stopped to assess the situation, already throwing herself into battle mode.

Kick. Stab. Bang. Terror. Shoot. Terror.

"_EDEN!" _

Everything froze. Eden, heart racing arrow pointed at a navy-clad mortal. Willow, lying on the floor, tangled in the net. Rio, eyeing the man next to her who had a knife pressed into her back.

No. No. No. Eden eyed him, wondering how easy that guy would be to take out. She could shoot him in the neck, but—

"Lower your bow, Emmerson."

Where was Kunhyi? He didn't want to be there? Was he afraid?

"_Lower the bow," _the one holding Rio said.

_What do I do what do—_She lowered her arrow, pointing it towards the floor. She could see the mortal guards relax. How many were there? Two, three—probably more in the cabin…

"Thank you." The guard said, looking relieved. "Now you should—"

She jerked the bow back up, firing without warning. The arrow hit him in the elbow, and his arm drooped. Reacting automatically, Rio spun, kicking him in the chest, finishing him off with her bow as he fell backwards.

In a panic, the other guard lunged towards where Willow was struggling with the net.

Rio dove towards him. Eden moved to follow when she felt iron hands on her arm.

_No Willow Rio Rio Willow no. _She spun, kicking at the hand's owner, and he sprang back. And Eden turned just in time to watch the sword go clean through Rio's stomach.

O-o

Rio.

Eyes opening. .

Shocked that this mortal had been able to hurt her.

Stepping backwards.

Sword. In stomach.

Rio stumbling.

The white light, everywhere, out of control, splattering the mortal's remains on the wall.

The slam of the door behind her as the third mortal ran to the control room, afraid.

Rio falling.

Eden lunging forward, trying to catch her, convinced that if she did Rio would be fine. Of course she would be fine. She was Rio. She liked playing the violin and lamb's meat with ketchup and was her second-in-command. She was Rio, who ten minutes ago had been following her down the dark street, ready to go steal some food. Rio, who had given Lily her portions, who had been able to sit with her all day as Lily fought hunger, the monster none of them could slay.

She was Rio, who was lying on the floor of a strange helicopter, eyes and mouth open, staring at nothing, while her sisters were carted off to what was probably going to be their deaths.

No. Eden was going to kill them. She was going to kill them all.

Eden stood, charging the door that separated her from the last mortal guard and the pilot. Thick metal. She kicked at it, pounding, stabbing, blasting, unable to make a dent in it.

_No. No. No. No. _

That was when the hissing started.

"What's that?" She whispered, turning to Willow. Her vision blurred. She was crying?

"The air smells funny," Willow mumbled, closing her eyes.

Gas?

The helicopter rocked with one final explosion, light bouncing off the walls, desperate to escape. But she couldn't. She couldn't blow through. She was tired… why was she tired?

_No… no… _she shook her head, sitting down. She was not going to pass out. She couldn't. The others were waiting for her at the dock, her, Willow, Maxwell and Rio, and they were never going to make it…

Dawn!

She fumbled with her wrist, head spinning. She had to tell Dawn. Number seventeen. She pressed the buttons, hands shaking.

"Eden? Are you ok?" And she was there, there in her ear. Eden relaxed a tiny bit.

"Dawn—" A sob broke through. She was crying. No. She couldn't show weakness.

"_It's delicious!" Rio protested, dumping more ketchup onto her meat. Zoe sniffed at it. _

"_What _is _this stuff?" _

"_It's ketchup!" Rio took a big bite. It spilled out of her mouth, looking somewhat like blood. _

"_From now on," Phoebe declared, "I shall call you Dracula." _

"_It's _Edward,_ idiot." Lark laughed. "Get with the times." _

"Eden what's going on?"

She started to take a deep breath, than remembered that that would be bad for her. Everything was getting darker. Why?

"Dawn. Dawn, you're not following us ok?"

"Following you _where? _Eden what's going on?"

"I can't… they caught up to us… killed Max… took Rio and Willow into a chopper…"

"_What? _Eden, you're not, please tell me you're not—"

"Dawn." How was she supposed to say it? She hesitated. "Dawn… they killed Rio."

The words tasted wrong on her tongue. _They killed Rio._ It didn't sound right. _Killed Rio. Rio dead. _Of course it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"They… did… _what?_" Dawn seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"Rio." And yes, that was a sob. Her body reacted, but her mind didn't, because she couldn't believe it… too soon… an hour ago, ten minutes ago, that morning, for the last hundred and fifty years she had been there…

"You're lying." Dawn snarled. "You're lying, Eden. LYING." The last word was a shriek.

The sounds of battle were echoing in the background.

"Have I ever lied to you, Dawn John?" It was harder to speak. Her head was spinning. Dawn's scream echoed in the background for a good ten seconds before someone muffled it.

"_Dawn,_" Eden pleaded. The scream was tearing her in two pieces. And she couldn't lose it, couldn't appear too weak but there was nothing she could _do…_

Couldn't breathe. She gasped for air, unable to hold her breath in any longer. And she should just give up, because Rio was dead and Willow was unconscious and she couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. And she had lost, she had failed as lieutenant, because she had let Rio die right in front of her. And Robin, and Phoebe, and Lydia and Lark had all died and she couldn't save them…

"_I am the conqueror," Rio declared grandly, lifting a hellhound bone over her head. _

"_Sure, Rio," Robin laughed. "Except, I was the one that shot it." _

"_Oh shut up. I was the one that _found _it." _

"_On accident. It attacked you. _I _shot it."_

"_No killing my glory!" _

"Dawn," she croaked again. It seemed to take a long time for the other Hunter's voice to come back, and when it did, it was cut off repeatedly with the sobs that Eden was trapping deep inside because she couldn't appear weak… not when Lars was probably videotaping… she couldn't… let them think… she was afraid… Rio…

She pulled herself closer, taking one of the fallen Hunter's cold hands, then reaching over and grabbing one of Willow's warmer ones. She pulled Willow closer. They weren't going to take her away… they couldn't… she was never going to let go.

"We're going to come get you guys," Dawn said weakly. "OK? We're going to come get you. Don't… don't use it."

It? The pill. Tucked away in her pocket. Eden realized she should have done right away… but no, no, Willow was alive... she had to stay alive… save Willow…

"And deny Kunhyi the pleasure of my company?" she asked Dawn, voice getting fainter. No! No, she had to stay conscious, she had to…

"Eden." And then came the sobs, more violent, and Eden wanted to reach out and hug her but all she could see was turning… and Rio was falling.. falling… and there was blood everywhere… and she gasped… and it hurt, it hurt her nose, her mouth, and she couldn't see… and she couldn't see… and there was nothing.

O-o

…**Nothing, except the review replies. And this epically long chapter. **

**Shrrgnien: **OK, you win. Actually, I win, because I knew all along. I was just poking at you. And she might come back. Or she might not. I kill a lot of people. And YESSS! PRINCESS BRIDE QUOTES FTW!

**Moonrise: **IKR? Ow ow ow ow. But I don't think _Lars _would be happy if he got his head stuck in a woodchipper. And that's how I imagine most of them. And that'd be awesome. Help with illustrations, I mean.

**RIDE: **Jason pops in and out.

**Fishpony: **I don't think they specifically say it in the books. And no, I think of some people as colors too. Like when I think of you I associate you with green.

**Fana: **The gods? Yeah. And I knew some, made some up, and a few I got online. And we're in year five right now and we're a little more than halfway through my timeline, so… yeah. Probably about 50, 60 chapters? *cringe*

**Draco: **Your experiments? *raises eyebrows* And Lars? He's… well, he's your typical villain, I suppose, but then… he's not at the same time because I keep adding things and I get in his head and figure out why he does what he does. So… I don't know. I don't hate him as much as most of you guys do.

**Dreamcatcher: **Thanks = )

**Morganic: **No, no that would suck. I can think of happier places to meet.

**I Guess I'll Never Know Who: **Profile? You don't _have _a profile! Uhm, how do you always know when TYOOT is posted? Since you can't do alerts? XDDD Yeah. I can't wait to be seventeen… not.

**O t h e r s I d e o f l I f e: **He has a bunch, he just didn't go into detail. But, ah, having your hands ground to dust? That'd make _me _crack…. :D

**Hp: ** My mind is a strange place. Especially when I've stuck Lars's mind in there so I can figure out how he works. And thanks! Now that you mention it I can't think of Twelve really either… though, actually, I sort of meant her to be just a normal teenager. She's not a demigod, really, or a military strategist or a sadist. She's… a person.

**Montana: **Wow that's late. To bed with you! *push* though I guess I can't really talk…

**TYOOT was nominated for the Verita award in the OC category. This is the part where I guilt-trip you all into voting for it. Yeah, Shrrg. Even you. XP **

**Fanmortals(dot)webs(dot)com. **


	28. Chapter 28

_This is my Quest to follow that star,  
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far,  
To fight for the right  
Without question or pause,  
To be willing to march into hell  
For a heavenly cause!_

— _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (Don Quixote)_

They were playing Futures when he arrived.

It was a commonly held belief that the night shift was the best one. Even though they were trying to clean a rather large paint stain (how the hell had that gotten there?) off Lars's hardwood floors at half past midnight, they could speak without being interrupted, work more slowly without being told to hurry up, someone had just made a mess.

"Judging by the way that strand of hair curls in the opposite direction than the rest," Fifteen said, with a dramatic flourish of his rag, "you will go on to become an Elvis impersonator. But a bad one. Then you will write a book about this Epic Failure and make millions of dollars off of it."

It might have been the late hour that had Twelve laughing, or maybe it was the tension and pressure of the last few days. Or the image of herself dressing in sequins.

"What about me?" he asked hopefully.

"Well." Twelve surveyed him, trying to think up something suitable ridiculous. "Your low height indicates that—"

The radio chime went off. The two slaves froze, wondering what had happened. The bell never went off at night unless it was an absolute emergency…

Twelve heard the feet pounding upstairs. Like the _drums, drums in the deep _that her father had joked about—was it three years ago now? Two? She couldn't remember.

They stood at attention as Lord Lars came down the stairs. He was still in his t-shirt and jeans, and Twelve wondered if he had never gone to bed at all. He ignored the slaves for the time being, rushing to the radio. "Well?"

"I have three," said the crackly voice on the other end. "Two alive, on dead."

_Three what? _

It was rare that Lars looked truly happy. But now, he looked like the kid that scored the winning goal in the final. Proud, pleased, relieved. He looked like the kid that had bet money on the game and would now go rub it in everyone's face.

"Bring them in." Lars said, before turning. And then the kid was gone, replaced by the slightly crazed man. "Slaves. Come."

They looked at each other for a second, and then dropped their sponges back in the bucket before following.

The grinding sound over the house made her finch as she reached up to cover her ears. _What the hell? _For a second, she thought they were being bombed, but no, that wouldn't make sense. That wasn't a reason Lars would be happy.

Fifteen opened the front doors, revealing a helicopter neatly landed on the thin strip of pavement in the well-tended garden. The trees were just silhouettes in the dark .Blots on the skyline, hiding the house from the road and the water…

It took her a moment to realize that one of the trees was moving.

Wait, no, that wasn't a tree. It was a man, she realized a second later. A man in a uniform, probably pilot, though it was hard to tell in the dark.

"Well?" Lars asked, excitement showing. "Where are they?"

"In the back, here…"

He turned, leading them back towards the copter. Lars gestured for Twelve and Fifteen to go ahead of him.

_Why? _

She didn't have time to ponder Lars's behavior. She was too scared, too nervous about what they were going to find in the helicopter. _Have three. _Three nuclear bombs? Three rebels? Three kittens? Lars motioned for Fifteen to open the door .

_Three bodies? _

She stared into the cabin. There were more than three bodies, though it was too dark to count them all. In various grotesque positions, some looking as they were no longer whole. Twelve jumped back.

No. She was not going to throw up.

Not when the pilot turned on the light and she saw all the blood. Not when she realized that might be human remains on the wall. Or the human hand, just lying there, a foot away. The burn marks that covered another man's skin. Not. Going. To. Puke. Especially not when she saw the kid with the knife in her back. Or the light-haired body next to her. She tried to swallow, but there was no saliva left in her mouth.

Clearly she was hallucinating. Clearly she was in some other world, on where it was actually possible for Hunters to be killed by mortals, where life could change instantly in a few seconds, where it was actually possible for Eden Emmerson to be dead.

Lars whistled, glancing from body to body, counting. "You're the only one that made it back?"

The man's face was pale. "Yes. Will—he made it out of the cabin, he locked himself in the front with me, but he was already dying…" There was a sadness to his voice, and Twelve couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. That would be terrifying.

"But you got em."

Dead.

Emmerson.

_Dad. Dad's still ok though. He wasn't with her. If he was dead they'd know. I he was there would be big news about it right? _

"I did." The pilot sounded a little more proud, now. "We would have been back here ages ago but I was taking detours. To help with your diversion."

Fifteen poked Twelve in the side, his eyes wide with horror. He mouthed something, but she couldn't tell what. What little night vision she had was ruined by the light right next to them.

"Slaves." Lars ordered. "Take them in."

Twelve bowed. "Which ones?"

He sneered. "The live ones, you idiot."

Live—

Some were alive?

She wondered why she was relieved. It was better for them if they were dead.

Because the impossible had happened. Hunters had been caught. Visions of the Information Acquisition room flashed in her mind.

"Of course." Fifteen bowed again, then leaned forward. Twelve followed, assuming that the ones that looked the least bloody—Emmerson and the net one—were alive. Fifteen began rolling the lieutenant towards the door. She was almost at a point where they could pick her up when she kicked at Fifteen's hand.

Everyone froze, waiting. Two Mississippis, three Mississippis. But she didn't move again.

All the stories about the most famous rebels had passed through many mouths before they reached the slaves, and so Twelve had expected them to be a little exaggerated. But through them, she had forgotten what she Emmerson was—a kid. A kid in a black hoodie and jeans full of holes.

Still.

Her fingers were moving a little. Twelve gulped.

"I'll take her," she mouthed to Fifteen. Because, well… it was a Hunter, and she was less likely to blow up a girl carrying her than a guy.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Still.

_Jesus, this girl could kill someone with a hipbone. _The hoodie suggested someone much larger, but she couldn't be more than ninety pounds.

Was that how they were caught? Lars's plan to starve them out seemed to be a success.

_Dad. _They couldn't all starve. They couldn't… there was no way that he was already dead right?

Behind her, Fifteen grunted as he tried to carry the other Hunter but touch her as little as possible. ("In case they can smell guy," he would tell Twelve later.)

"Mmph."

Halfway to the house, Twelve froze. That hadn't come from Emmerson's mouth right?

"Hurry up!" Lars barked behind her. "I'm cold."

Twelve bowed a little and kept going. On the one hand, if Emmerson could wake up and escape, that would be good. For the resistance, for her father. On the other, Twelve would probably end up dead.

If she was a good person, she thought. If she was a good person she would slow down. She would try and get Emmerson to wake up before they reached the door. Or she would pinch her nose, cover her mouth, do something to kill her before Lars could.

The thumb crusher. The rack. The Chair. The burner. The HOCD. And her mind was spinning, spinning, and she was going to throw up but she couldn't, couldn't. And Emmerson was moving more now, mumbling, trying to shake off the effects of the drugs or gas or whatever they had used…

"In." Lars barked, watching the Hunter with his eyes narrowed. He didn't have the same look of joy anymore. Now it was more…

…surely it couldn't be fear?

All at once, the kid—Twelve couldn't think of her as anything else, because she was at least five years older—stopped moving.

Good?

_Good_, she thought, stepping through the door and back into the great foyer. That meant she was less likely to be killed.

She believed this right up until she saw the grey flash of an eye.

Everything after happened at once, so fast that even later she couldn't put it together. Emmerson had twisted so violently, snapping her legs back, breaking free of Twelve's grip and rolling away. Twelve stumbled, falling onto her back. A scream of _NO! _came from above her, and Lars whipped out his sword.

Silence came after, as everyone sized up the situation.

Emmerson, crouching by the piano, eyes darting from the other Hunter to Lars to the pilot and back again.

Twelve, carefully getting to her feet, trying not to look like a target.

Fifteen, trying to look like he hadn't just been carrying Emmerson's friend.

Lars, looking furious.

Emmerson was the first to break the silence. "Hey, Kunhyi. Long time no see." Her voice was flat. Somewhat sarcastic. Did she realize what she had woken up into? Did she understand what was going on?

Her hand darted from the empty sheath on her hip to the dagger loop on her belt and from there to her shoulder, never looking away from Lars and the pilot. Twelve hesitated, and then took a few steps away. Fifteen followed her.

If she had ever imagined herself in a situation with Emmerson around, it was one where there were lots of other potential targets. A crowded square, maybe. Not… here.

The lone chime of the clock made Twelve jump, convinced that it was a gunshot—but wait, guns were outlawed. It was part of Kronos's plan to move humanity to a more controllable spot.

The last time that clock had chimed, she and Fifteen were telling futures. She had never gotten around to telling his. Fifteen minutes ago? It was a lifetime.

And below them, Six and Ten slept, not knowing…

Ten.

_Kill him, _she thought furiously, staring at Emmerson. The Olympian was still crouched next to the piano. Twelve wondered if anyone had even breathed yet, much less attacked. _Kill Lars. Please. _

"Make a move against us," Lars drawled, taking a casual step forward and drawing his sword, "and we'll cut the little one into pieces. Don't look like that. It wouldn't kill her. She can live without her feet."

The little one. Twelve glanced at her. She was still unconscious, and seemed to have no plans to return to the world anytime soon. Light brown hair, thin face—she couldn't be any older than twelve. Maybe thirteen.

"Or," the pilot suggested, smirking at the trapped look on Emmerson's face, "we could give her to our men. They might like—"

It was as if someone set off a strobe light. A white light flickered, and then Emmerson was up, up in the air. At least ten feet high, shooting towards him. It was almost cat like the way she did so, landing with her feet on his chest, fingers in his eyes.

The crack of the meeting between his head and the floor made Twelve flinch.

Too fast. Everything was happening too fast. They always did slow motion in movies, but in real life, it was more like speed-up. Suddenly there was a fourteen year old squatting on his chest.

The pilot fumbled for the knife attached to his hip, but a smaller hand was there first. Pale fingers wrapped around the hilt.

His own knife prodded his face.

Twelve had to blink a couple times to make sure that it was all real, that this had actually happened.

Fifteen grabbed her hand, pulling her farther back.

It was almost random, the swords, the blood, the terror, on the backdrop of grandeur, of the shiny shiny piano Lars hardly ever played, the expensive works of art.

"_Eumph!" _The man grunted as he tried to sit up, but Emmerson stuck two of her fingers into his eyes. He yelped a little in pain, and she pressed the dagger harder against his neck. He had only been down for what, five seconds? Maybe time did slow down after all.

She looked away for the inevitable. The blood, the scream.

This was war. It didn't matter that he had been the only survivor of his crew, or that he had knocked on the door ten minutes ago thinking he was safe. It didn't matter that the media would show in depth coverage of his funeral, with close up shots of the sobbing family.

Crying family. There would be the same for the dead girl in the helicopter. But this time, the crying family was Emmerson. Grieving, anyway. She didn't look like she had ever cried in her life.

His blood leaked all over the hardwood floor. In one corner of her mind, Twelve registered that they would have a lot more cleaning to do later.

The man yelled one more time, then went still.

Without missing a beat, Emmerson turned around, flinging the bloody knife at Lars. He jumped out of the way, hardly seeming surprised. Clang of metal on metal, a knife on flesh, and Lars's sword went flying. It landed a few feet away. A bridge between the pair of fighters and the silent slaves.

Lars and Emmerson stood, facing each other.

One sword. Two people. No one moved.

Emmerson was the one who finally made a break for it.

Lord Lars went after her in a football dive. She spun around at the last second, only to be knocked over backwards, Lars attempting to pin her.

Flinching at the close contact, she reached up, calmly plugging his nose. Lars shook his head violently, trying to break free, but she must have had strong fingers. Her other fist landed in his mouth.

Blood fell out, caressing Emmerson's skin.

And they stayed there, pushing, pulling, kicking. The weapon still lay several feet away.

_Pick it up, _Twelve told herself. _Get the sword. Pick it up. _

Could she? It was so close. No problem. No problem. But her feet wouldn't move, locked down as they were…

Emmerson rolled them over, still clawing at Lars's face as he clung to her elbow. Then around again, and Lars came up, grunting with exertion. They looked like they could be hugging as they rolled, farther and farther across the room.

It couldn't have been more than a minute later that Emmerson broke free of the dance, getting back to her feet, but to Twelve it was a lifetime.

_Pick it up!_

_I can't!_

_Pick it up. Kill him. Kill him! _

"Where are your Hunters?" Lars taunted, spitting a tooth out of his mouth as he stood. "Where are your _sisters, _Emmerson?" His words were slurred, as though he was drunk. An insane gleam had crept into his eyes.

"Let's see," Emmerson said, voice flat, cold. Detached. "One is lying in your helicopter. Dead."

Lars took a step forward. She didn't move.

"Another, hiding, slowly starving to death. She can hardly stand anymore."

Step.

"Five. Their bodies in mass graves. Or still rotting on Olympus. One with an arm missing. The second decapitated. The third, strangled. Lydia, thrown from a tree, crushing her skill. My lieutenant…" Her eyes burned as Lars took another step forward. Still, she didn't move. "Blown to pieces as she tried to help her family."

"At some point, I'll do the math and figure out how many that leaves." Lars said. He made to take another step towards her, but turned at the last second, diving for the sword.

The white light was reflected around the room, the bang making the floor shake and the sword fly. Fly, away from Lars, crashing through the window, swallowed by the darkness outside.

Through all of this, the little Hunter didn't move.

Fifteen squeezed Twelve's hand again, reminding her to breath. You did that with your lungs, right?

An enraged roar—"My window!"—and Lars went for her. And again they were down, rolling across the floor.

Kicking. Clawing. Bleeding. Neither showing any signs of fear. Getting closer to the wall, to the cabinet, the syringes—backup weapons, he called them—that Twelve had just cleaned. And Twelve saw what he was going to do.

_No don't don't. _She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, she was scared, why was she so scared…

Lars sprang up at the last second, opening the door.

Emmerson seemed surprised for a second, but then she was on her feet. The cabinet door shut, and Twelve opened her mouth to—to what? Warn her? Of what? Emmerson would know what the needle was.

He went for her throat, but her hands came up. For a moment, it looked like they were arm wrestling. Bracing against each other, like two kids on the playground that want to go different places.

It wasn't much of a fight though. He had, after all, been eating regularly. With an _ooph_, Eden was forced back against the wall. Twelve wasn't sure where she got the energy to still try and hold his wrist back, but she only managed for a few seconds. The needle bit her in the arm.

"_Fuck._" There was more hate and venom in that word than Twelve had thought possible as the Hunter slumped back, kicking blindly. Sinking. Finally going still.

O-o

Instead of going down to the sleeping room, she went up to the closet. The only place in the house where they were sure there weren't any bugs. The place where Fifteen had shared the chocolate and news of Zoe Verita those years ago. The place where he told Twelve about the storm that had wiped out Verita's base and when her body was found. The place where they could go to talk without being overheard.

She was sure he would follow her and she was not disappointed. Fifteen gently closed the closet door behind them.

"You all right?"

She had just seen how full Lars's dungeon had become in the week since Legweak began to crumble. Listened to their shocked whispers as they brought in the one they thought would never be captured. Had had to close the door on Eden Emmerson's unconscious form. Had a detailed vision of her father there. No, she was not bloody well ok.

Neither of them said a word. Just tried to put off the truth for as long as possible.

**O-o**

**And thus concludes a ridiculously long chapter. I tried to cut it down. It was originally way longer. Why? I have no idea. *headdesk* **

**Anyway, FM voting is still up, as are D23 submissions. Vote TYOOT. *mutters about how I'd rather lose to anyone but Xed* **

**Fish: **No me gusta ketchup. And XD yeah it is.

**U: **I can't spell. Really? Please tell me where they updated the dictionary because I'm fairly certain that at least 99% of my words are correct. Also, it's hard to imagine how I could fail to portray in character characters that I made up. And first you said it was a good plot and now you're saying it's cliché? Make up your mind, revenge flamer.

**Moonrise: **Cardboard God, you mean? Yeah the original beginning was sort of like that. It isn't anymore though. And thanks!

**Fana: **Yeah. Poor guy. He might matter later, I haven't decided.

**Morganic: **I get that feeling sometimes XD And thanks. Yep, Rio is dead dead dead.

**Draco: **sorry. Guilt tripping is my job. And I hadn't even thought of that. But that is a Theia thing innit :D :D And it's come up before. It sometimes works but she can't control it. .

**Shrrg: **NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

**Hayley: **I _didn't _have him anywhere else. He's just a dude.

**YES! NOW I FINALLY KNOW WHO!: **I've found you on inkpop XDD and is that a fanfic?

**Hp: **aw. I'm sorry. But thanks :D

**Peter: **Yeah. I'm more than halfway through my timeline but there was some stuff I was going to add so yeah. I don't know when it'll end. Pretty soon. Hopefully before NaNO but it's not looking optimistic. Maybe Christmas. :D


	29. Chapter 29

_"If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?"  
— Jodi Picoult (My Sister's Keeper)_

"What is the rebel's strategy? What do they know about the gods' locations? How do they communicate from base to base?" Lars muttered, pacing. "What—"

His dad turned in his desk chair. "What," he asked, dead serious, "is the wing speed velocity of a swallow?"

"African or Euro—" Lars stopped. "_Dad!_"

The Doctor smiled a little, and Lars had to work a little harder to keep his glare on. "This is _serious._"

"I know." His dad continued smiling, but his eyes changed. "I know."

Glad that they were back on topic, Lars turned back to his list. "Now I just have to figure out how to get her to blab. Do you want to help?"

"Help—No." Dr. Kunhyi looked stricken, more than Lars thought he should be. This was going to be amazing. He finally had her. The resistance was as good as dead. Travel, here he came. There wasn't anything tying him down anymore.

"It's not a big deal," he pointed out, drumming his fingers on the kitchen table. "I mean, she's Eden Emmerson. She deserves to die."

"I know. I just don't want to be there when kids get tortured." The room seemed to get a lot colder. "Call it leftover paternal instinct from Ismene—"

Lars cringed, feeling the old anger swell up again, faster than it should have. There was no room, no traitor in the basement, nothing but fear and anger and loss…

"No!" he snapped, realizing he had actually raised his hands, trying to fight it off. "That is the reason we fight. Emmerson stands by the gods." The gods who stood by while camp defenses broke, while monsters killed their children in their own sanctuary. Eleven years, and the feeling hadn't faded. The feeling of being cut in half—in the morning, a twin, in the evening, alone. "Shut up."

His father looked away. Was the fool crying? He shouldn't cry. He should just stop thinking about her… "I know what has to be done." His voice was quite steady. "Do what you have to."

"Right now," Lars snapped, "I need a beer." _Disapprove all you want, _he thought. _I dare you. _He was of age. He could do whatever he wanted. "I'm going out."

"Lars—"

"Shut up." The study door slammed behind him.

_Ismene. _He would not, could not think of her. She would distract him. Eleven years, and he did not think of her. Not until his father had said the name. The password to so many memories that he kept locked away where no one could find them.

"_Hey, Izzie! Catch!"  
"That's a water balloon, dick! Do I look stupid?" _

"_The hellhound is _my _kill!"  
"It's mine!"  
"I stabbed it!"  
"I shot it!" _

"_You know Dad is extra special because Athena sent him two."  
"No, she sent him two because you're not brainy enough." _

The voices in his head were getting louder, and it was his voice, the higher, prepubescent version, and hers. Even though he had forgotten her face, her voice would never leave. The rain soaked into his clothes, and he broke into a run. So close to the Ave…

"_Get your feet off my bunk, Lars!"  
"They're not on your bunk."  
"They're hanging down in my face. They're in my space. Get them out."_

The rain on his back, the cold night air outside. He started to run.

"Ismene! _ISMENE!"  
"Lars. Lars. She's… she's dead., Lars."  
"She is not! She never loses a battle. _Izzie!"  
_"Come on, Lars. Come away."  
"Let go of me, Chiron! NO! Izzie!" _

He pulled open the door to the club, the loud music overriding his thoughts. Good. He marched up to the bar, enjoying the way everyone looked at him, realized who he was.

The bartender reached for his usual order as soon as he appeared, and Lars took the bottle farther down the counter, all the while watching a younger girl—twenty one, maybe twenty two—dancing with her boyfriend.

_Ismene. _

No one had spoken of her. Hadn't thought of her in years. Ever since he joined the Titan army after she died. Her face, her voice, thirteen years of memory were shut down, erased.

'_It's a monster. It was a monster."  
"Don't worry, Izzie. It's gone. The boy killed it."  
"The boy with hooved feet! I want to go home…"_

I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I want to go home.

_Ismene! _

I want to go home.

_Izzie! Ismene, leave me alone! _

Her voice went silent in his head as he took another drink.

O-o

The street outside seemed louder than usual, lights flashing, giving him a headache. He needed to call his driver… had he really run all the way here? He didn't want to walk all the way home. It was raining.

"You!"

What? He turned, half expecting someone offering him a ride. Instead, he found a knife in his face.

Automatically, he reached for his sword, before realizing he didn't have it. He had left his house too quickly.

_Ismene, this is your fault. _

The holder of the knife was vaguely familiar. Maybe he had shown up somewhere in his photos. He didn't do battle much… he was sneakier…

"Want to come with me?" The familiar-yet-not-familiar rebel asked politely.

How had he gotten here? The noise leveled out, a roar in the background. There was… what was happening? The rebel. He had to fight the rebel.

Said rebel got right to the point. "Where are they?"

"Emmerson?" Lars lucked away as the knife pricked his skin leaning towards where he saw a taxi cab coming. He lifted one arm.

"Stay." A hand grabbed him, and he could sense something coming towards his head. Was he about to be knocked out? Where was his sword, his backup? They were _always _around. He hadn't captured Emmerson just to get captured himself.

Was he drunk? He was definitely drunk. Wasted. _Smashed. _But he could do this. He spun, somewhat clumsily, knocking the rebel in the stomach.

"OLYMPIAN!" he yelled. "Get 'im!"

More people were coming forward, trying to pull the rebel back. Lars jumped at the taxi. Fingernails scraped the back of his neck.

"I'll tell Emmerson hello for you when I get'ome," he called over his shoulder, before slamming the cab door shut behind him. The rebel pushed a civilian out of the way, making a jump for the car.

"Go go go," Lars muttered to the driver.

The driver went.

O-o

"I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad."

"I don't have to hear it if I don't want to."

"You want to go torture rebels like _this? _You can't even drag yourself out of bed." His dad put his hands on his hips, glaring down at him. "According to NPR you can't even fight rebels like this."

Had that really happened? God, he would never hear the end of—

_Lars! _Ismene reached for his mind. Cringing, he forced her back. Locked her into a tight box with his memories, and she was gone again.

O-o

He'd talk to Emmerson tomorrow, he decided, pointing to his empty cup. A slave ran forward and filled it again with coffee.

He didn't feel good. And anyway, she'd have enough to deal with right now. He wouldn't want to take away from her time with her cellmates. Sighing, he glanced at the earpiece sitting on the counter. He'd have to get rid of that. Might have a tracker in it. Damn. With another loud sigh, he knocked back more coffee. Today was not going to be fun.

Tomorrow would, though. Tomorrow would be fuckin' excellent.

O-o

**Ok. So this chapter took two weeks. So sue me. And it's really short. That's because I thought another chapter was going to come first, so I wrote half of it, and was like wait, no, I need LPOV. So yeah. **_**And **_**I used a Jodi Picoult quote. Why did I do that? sheesh. I don't like her. **

**Anyway. **

**Oh and if you're reading this a month or a week or a year from now and you think I don't want you to review because I already posted review replies, you are wrong. If you're reading it after it's done I'd really like to know, even if all you say is "I read this".Lol. **

**AHumanRobot: **Let me first say that I love your username. That's awesome. And thanks! Yeah… my characters just grew on me.

**Tonycat: **I never mention Chiron and the party ponies. It's an interesting question. I should probably answer it shouldn't I? and I want to see how he's going to make the storyline _not _like PJO, what with the Saving of the World and stuff. Since he's already done that.

**Morganic: **Congratz! Our school doesn't have a football team… and I don't know. It depends on how much story I have left =)

**Moonrise: **this is the longest I've gone without updating. I feel bad…

**Shrrgnien: **Why are you so sold on 12/15?

**Fishpony: **well, _this _chapter is ridiculously short. Lol. Thanks! I'll try and find the computer file and edit… I'm not sure if I have it now because it's on the school comp.

**Haha. I know who. So there.: **she wasn't playing dead. She was drugged up =) I haven't read City of Bones… I started it… people tell me I should give it another chance…

**Hayley: **thanks.

**Hp: **psh .just go to . lol jk thanks =)

**Dctwi: **thanks!

**Fana: **why would I give away the ending?


	30. Chapter 30

_When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."  
— __Stephen King__ (__Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay__)_

"I hate you," Rio snarled. "I have you I hate you I hate you."

It was like her stomach was falling, falling, falling towards the floor. Eden winced, trying to block out the words that were attacking her. Like the arrows that would come at her in battle. But you could use a shield to keep an arrow from hitting you. There was no such device for words.

"Rio," she started. "Rio, I—"

"Why did you just ignore me?" Rio demanded, putting her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you turn around when you were fighting that guy, why didn't you realize I needed help? Did you _want _me to die? Did you think it was better for me? Why didn't you ask? Because I didn't want to die. I wanted to give Dawn back that shirt I borrowed, and go fight at the port. I wanted to see Artemis again. Fuck, Eden. I should get a choice."

"I tried to save you," she protested, weakly. "But then the mortal—"

"It's always excuses with you, isn't it, Eden?" There was so much _disgust _in her voice. "You should be dead. You should be down here with me, and Thalia, and Phoebe and Lark and Zoë… but _no, _you're the _leader, _the _lieutenant. _You think you're too good for—"

"You think I want you dead?" Eden yelled. "You think—"

"If you had really wanted to save me," Rio said curtly, "you would have."

O-o

She was awoken by a loud "_Fuck _you." It took her a moment to realize she had said it, and another to remember the reason for the crippling fear that was still racing through her system. Another moment still to work up the will to open her eyes.

A half dozen men were seated around her.

_Whaaat? _She blinked again, but they were still there. Grimy, tired, with shallow cheeks and haunted eyes.

"Finally awake?" The one next to her said. He was probably only four feet away, and she had to resist the urge to lengthen that distance. There were more important things to be done, like figuring out where the hell she was. Thick stone walls on three sides, Plexiglas on the fourth, showing a narrow hallway, as if they were in a display case.

_Willow? _

Eden glanced around again, half hoping she would appear maybe on the other side of the cell. Where was she?

"I'm Rueben," the man continued. "And these here are Isaac, Benjamin, Joseph, and Jason."

_Jason? _

Momentarily distracted, she stared at the man he had indicated. He was lying in one corner, seemingly unable to move. His eyes were closed, and she could see his eyes twitching under them.

The others, though, were all staring at her, and she had to force herself not to look down. There could be no crying now. No moments of weakness. No screaming and charging at the walls, calling for Willow. She had to look on top of everything.

Why were they all looking like that? Eyes wide, mouths half open, glancing at each other from time to time as if acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. Questions on their tongues, afraid to come out.

"So… um, how'd they catch _you?_" The man Rueben had introduced as Isaac looked somewhat shocked.

"They didn't." She felt the need, the useless need, to clarify, even thought it shouldn't matter. "I broke into their helicopter." Then Lars had somehow managed to knock her out, though she wasn't sure if that really happened. The whole incident was almost dream like.

"You _went?_" Did he think she was lying? "Why the hell did you do that?"

"They had my sisters."

And she had lost them both. Willow. Where was Willow?

"How'd they manage to catch them?"

"I don't know." As she said this, her eyes darted to the unconscious man. The unconscious man covered in bruises, the blood, the deformed hands. "Why don't you ask _Jason? _He might be able to tell you how they knew exactly where we'd be. Maybe you should ask Jason why my sister is lying in a helicopter with a knife in her back and the other one is down here in this hellpit somewhere. I'd kind of like to hear his explanation myself."

Silence. Wondering if she'd said too much, she was on the verge of an apology, but Rueben was talking again. Speaking quietly, gently, as if to a child.

"Don't… don't blame him. You don't know what it's like here. What Lars's torture devices can do. You don't—"

_I am not a child. I am not fourteen. _

"Don't what, Rueben?" She realized, belatedly, that there was a thick metal cuff around her foot. She wondered if she'd be able to blast it off later. "I don't what? Understand what I'm getting into? Don't know what's going to happen to me? Because I do." She paused. "I have a pretty good idea of what Kunhyi would like to do, anyway." She could feel the small capsule of death pressed against her skin. One swallow and she was free. "And I'm pretty sure that I'll find some way of dying before I betray everyone."

_But you can't die now, _she reminded herself. _You have to find Willow. _They would think Eden would have more information. But if she died… if she died, all of Lars's anger would fall on Willow. All their energy would be focused on her, not divided in two. As she was right now, Eden might be able to keep her safe. She couldn't just leave her.

She had already failed Rio.

O-o

"And then the doctor said—" Rueben stopped dead when Eden opened one eye, and she had the strange, misplaced desire to laugh. Did they really think she'd been asleep the whole time? Didn't they think she had other things on her mind then taking them to task for the punch line of yet another vile, degrading, over-sexualized, distasteful joke?

"No, go on." She paused. Then, for effect—why even deny it?—she had to add, "I liked the one about the old man and the specimen cup."

Insert awkward silence here. She hadn't really communicated with her cellmates for the two days she'd been here. All her time had been spent quietly going insane. She had thought they would have come for her by now. Come to… to what? Talk to her, torture her, gloat, whatever. Until then there was no getting out of this cell—far too small and too full of males—and she couldn't look for Willow…

The same thoughts had been bouncing around her head for hours. She couldn't even let herself think of the dream. It couldn't be real. It wasn't a half blood dream. Just a normal nightmare.

And even if it wasn't, she couldn't think about it. Because then she might cry. She could not, would not do that.

Especially could not now that the slave had arrived at the bars, and, unlike last time, she wasn't holding food.

"I…" she was staring at some point near Eden's feet, fidgeting. "I, um, need Emmerson and Legweak. L—Lord Kunhyi… erm, 'requests your presence.'"

_No. No way. _She had been expecting it, waiting for it, so why was she so terrified?

Which was more cowardly, to go standing, not even fighting, or to refuse and try and fight them? She wasn't thrilled about her chances in here, unarmed—her bow was refusing to come to her—and with one ankle stuck to the wall.

_Are you really scared of him? _

Were her hands shaking, was she about to keel over from terror? No. she could not be scared. She could not afford to be scared. She would show him how unafraid she was by going in without even bothering to fight, like this was so beneath her. She'd be bored.

_So why am I so fucking terrified? _

She was standing. Her fingers were strong, whole. Her legs could carry her places. She could see. Smell. Breathe. She was alive, and in one piece, and he might take that away.

No. She was the lieutenant. She had to act like it. So she shrugged, waving a cheerful goodbye to her cellmates, and even helped Jason stand up. The task of supporting him as they were led down the hall went to the slave.

It should have been a long walk. One that let Eden think up all her smart retorts and prepare her last words. Instead, it took about thirty seconds, just long enough for her to not see Willow in any of the cells they passed, and to notice the almost freakish cleanliness of the floors.

Then they were outside a heavy metal door, and she should have fought, she should have insisted on staying in the cell, and this could not be happening, it couldn't, and then the slave pushed the door open and they were inside.

O-o

Lars looked overjoyed to see them there. The excitement only seemed to increase as he told the slave to sit Eden on a metal bench and lock her hands to the handcuffs welded onto said bench. And probably the same amount of fun putting Jason down on some chair with a hole in it, and removing his pants.

_Weird. Is he gay? Maybe that's why he has yet to have a girlfriend. _

_Shut up, Eden. Just shut up. What the fuck am I doing here? I should not be here. I should be back at camp with Rio and arguing with Peter and making fun of Adam behind his back and—_

"I'm not going to give you the full tour. You'll be well acquainted with everyone here soon enough. You don't have to look like _that_—" _What look? I'm not scared of you! "—_I'm not going to hurt you. You don't really need to be here right now. Legweak is who I really needed to talk to."

Yes, and she was ten years old. Anyone older would be able to see through that.

Maybe she could sweat her way out of these cuffs and make a break for it.

"So, here's one that you should know. As Legweak is well aware, this here is my HOCD. Or just the CD for short."

"You really need help with your acronyms," Eden said shortly.

"I made Legweak guess—, but I'll let you off easy. It's my castration device. Since you're not a fan of men, I figured you'd enjoy—"

"What are you going to do with the severed…" she couldn't say the word. "…thingies? Need a transplant or something?"

The slave twitched.

"Well, I dunno." He smiled, as if this was a good idea. "Mine seems to work okay. Want to see?"

The comment was meant to throw her off, and it succeeded. She knew that later she would think of many braver things she could have done. Instead, her mind was wiped blank, and she shut up.

"Now, as I was saying." A smirk was dancing around his mouth. She glared back. Better, almost, to look at Lars's face than at the various instruments of torture scattered about the room.

"See, Legweak still hasn't told me some of what I really need to know." How many times had he imagined this scene? She might be his prisoner, but she wasn't five years old. And she should have better things to worry about, but—it bothered her anyway. "He led me to you and your… friends, but the he was, well, incapacitated."

_Sisters. _Eden clenched her teeth. Rio Rio Rio. Her situation was so different, the world turned upside down, so it wasn't hard to imagine that Rio was just back at camp, safe.

Safe.

_She's safe now. _The thought set off a tear trigger, but she couldn't, couldn't cry. Not here, not now. Lars would think he was getting to her.

"We still don't know some crucial things." He stopped again. Tying to psyhe her out?

"When are you going to stop your speech?" She realized, to her horror, that her voice was shaking. No. She had to sound strong. She was a hundred years older than him. She led an army, and she had to act like it. No one respected a coward.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you?" he rolled his eyes, and Eden shoifted some on the hard metal bench, tugging the handcuffs. She had to think had to think had to… "Well, then, Legweak. Want to tell your lieutenant about how the bases communicate?"

No. If they could intercept inter-base signals, they wouldn't be able to communicate, and Lars could probably track down the bases themselves…. _Dawn. Greg. The Hunt. Peter. _

"No." Jason looked at her, his pink face the only spot of color in this white and grey room. He pushed his hair back with one twitch of his broken hand, arm shaking. "Nothing to report, General."

She couldn't help but smile just a little. That was the Jason she had worked with, the one she wanted to remember.

"Well, then." Her hand behind her must have flickered—she could see the slave jump, could feel the slight tingling.

_There you are. Where've you been? _

It wasn't a random rush of adrenaline, like she'd felt in Kunhyi's living room. Nothing that could be of much help. Except…

It was dangerous. Dangerous and stupid. But Jason had already blabbed, and he would tell more. She knew. They couldn't risk it.

Eden tried to avoid looking down, kept her eyes fixed on Jason's face. Tried to silence her stomach, which was threatening to boil ove.r. She didn't have any food in there to lose. Christ, she was hungry.

"Well, then." She repeated. "I guess that means you're off duty."

Lars turned away, messing with one of the handles.

An explosion would alert him. She had to do this slowly, slowly, carefully. Was that even possible?

The metal started to go soft around her wrist. She only took a second to realize that this was the first time she'd actually controlled it, whatever it was, and then pulled her right hand free.

Kunhyi's back would only be turned for so long. She needed to kill him. Blast a hole in the wall, and escape. But she had none of the energy.

Why?

Why didn't it work? She relied on this weirdness to save her. Too often, it had just appeared. Now—

But she had something else.

Doing this would mean that she had no way out of here.

"Stupid thing is jammed. You're in luck, Legweak." That or he was just trying to prolong the fear of what was to come.

Should she?

_It's a sacrifice you have to make. If the commucations got out—_

Everyone would be dead. Be here in this torture room with her.

_You have to, Eden. _

_No. I won't die otherwise. They won't kill me. _

_Eden. _

_No. _

_You owe them. are you leader or not? _

She had seconds.

_Jason. Look at me. _

Maybe he got her telepathic message, or maybe it was a coincidence that their eyes met.

Eden opened her mouth a little, tilted her head back. Stared at the white, white ceiling. Jason bit his lip, eyebrows weaving together. Confusion.

Lars turned around, and her chance was lost.

_You're an ass for being relieved. _

"Now, have you forgotten the question, Legweak?"

Jason looked down.

Eden didn't look. Wouldn't. Couldn't. This whole situation was disgusting. Why couldn't Lars torture like a normal person? The sight disgusted her nearly as much as what she was about to do.

_Breathe. _

_Breathe. _

The disgust was disproportionate, really. Too late now. Old habits…

_Not scared, not scared, not scared. _

"You know the communications." Lars grabbed the handle, turning his back to Eden again. She slid one cautious hand under her shirt, knowing sudden movements would make him turn again. Still. She grabbed the capsule of death from her bra strap, then hid her hand behind her back again.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Not scared, not going to be selfish. _

Lars turned from the controls to Legweak, back still to her, and Eden raised the small capsule.

Jason's eyes widened with understanding. Was that hope on his face? Lars squeezed the handles together.

Jason screamed. The sound cut through her, made her want to throw up. The blood, too. The blood and Zeus, this was disgusting. And he was going to answer. He was going to try and make it stop. She could see the words fighting to leave his mouth.

_You have one shot. _

She couldn't think of the repercussions. She couldn't remember Jason in better times. She just flicked it towards him.

"How do—" Lars stopped as something flew over his shoulder. "What—" he spun, turning to Eden.

Her free hand was still in the air.

_No time to be scared. You're not scared. You don't regret a thing. _

"What did you—"

The silence made them all jump. Two generals and a slave turned towards the HOCD, where Jason lay slumped to one side, eyes closed, face blank. No longer in pain.

_That could have been me. _

"You—"

Lars seemed to forget about the instruments of torture, carefully orchestrated for maximum pain. Instead he lunged. Eyes wide, mouth open in a snarl, hands curled into claws. She had just long enough to wonder if he was even sane before she was knocked sideways off the bench, leaving one arm still locked down.

A moment of twisting, of metal biting skin, a sharp edge pressing against her forearm, then the crack made her yelp in pain.

"Fuck."

She clawed at his face, leaving deep scratches along one cheek. Blood came off in her fingernails, and he roared—a strangely animal sound, not human.

And she was there, stuck. Half on the bench, half off. Splattered with blood, but if it was his or hers, she couldn't tell. Arm, trapped, useless and broken, in a metal cuff.

No way to move. No way to escape. He grabbed her head with one large hand, banging it against the bench. She could feel the blood drip down from her forehead. A few seconds later, he roared in pain as her foot hit his kneecap.

It hurt.

He was too close to her. Hands on her ribcage, holding her down as his other hand went for her face. Her right arm flailed, trying to hit flesh, left one useless.

_It's probably better than the iron maiden. _

The thought was fleeting.

O-o

He pushed her into her cell, so hard she almost tripped. Then slammed the Plexiglas door behind him, one hand to his bloody cheek.

Eden turned away.

"Where's Jason?" Rueben asked instantly.

She ignored him, holding her arm, wondering if she should pull on it. Wait, that was for dislocations, as Rio would have told her. It hurt. _Fuck, _it hurt. Holy fucking Zeus.

"Emmerson?"

She was alive. She was alive. The slave finished locking her back up.

"Emmerson!" Slave left too. They were alone. "What happened to him?"

_Jason. _

"He's dead." What she had done hadn't sunk in yet. "He's dead."

Silence. Silence easily broken with a "How?"

"I killed him." _I killed him. _

Thoughts were disjointed. Words drifting. She couldn't think. It hurt. It all hurt.

And had saved no death for herself.

O-o

**O_O ridiculously long chapter. I was going to break it into two but that would just be annoying. Hopefully I'll be able to update once or twice more before NaNo starts. After that it'll be less frequent, since I also need to outline for that. **

**Aanaleigh—**Thanks! The slaves are fun.

**Fishpony—**probably not. It's mostly just part of his character, ya know?

**Hayley—**it's only been like a week. And no, it's a Monty Python reference.

**Moonrise—**yeps. I sent out the November email and have gotten some stuff. I need to keep bugging people XD

**RIDE-to-the-MAX**—XD

**Tonycat—**I'm trying. I lost 1,000 words of this chapter when my compuer crashed…

**Hp—**villains are cool. And yeah, he's kind of scared of his son. Doesn't make for very effective parenting.

**Morganic—**we have no football team because there are no boys at my school.

**Shrrgnien: **why am I being sued?

**I ACTUALLY KNOW WHO NOW. YAY!—**Monty Python ftw. Mostly extinct. My band director was once ranting about sort of, like "you can't _sort of _play out of tune. Can you be sort of pregnant?"

**AHumanRobot: **have I ever told you I love your penname? Probably…


	31. Chapter 31

**So I can count on one hand the amount of times I'm going to do POV jumps, especially this many, in the same chapter. I couldn't figure out a better way to do it. Sorry to all those anti-POV change people. Bah**

_"Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind."  
— __Rudyard Kipling_

Before Emmerson, he hadn't thought that bitch came in five-foot-five packages. Then again, before her, he hadn't met anyone quite so… obnoxious. How dare she go against him? How could she find some way of killing _his _prisoner? Why didn't she just accept that _he had won?_

_Kronos's ass. _

Lars kicked the wall. A full day after Legweak's death, the body was smelling. He didn't notice the smell, choosing the next time to kick the body. _Wake up, damn you. I didn't give you permission to die. _

Emmerson still thought she had some power here. He would prove her wrong. That all their lives were in his hands. _His. _No one else's.

An idea came to him, like a light bulb, and he smiled. Smiled, but only a little, because the motion hurt his cheek. Where Emmerson's fingernails had clawed it. Another reason for him to prove, once and for all, who held the ropes here.

The slave should have stopped her. He would kill her. Except, he couldn't even remember which slave it had been. They were all the same. Just people there to serve him. Ten was the only one he ever recognized, but she didn't do basement. It probably didn't even notice what Emmerson was doing. Slaves were so stupid. But just in case, since it would be expensive to replace his entire slave population…

He would make them all hang out and watch. No need to do work. This task would be too important for a slave anyway. He'd have to call one of his lieutenants. (_A monster? No you want people to be scared of them, not you.) _ But he could pull it off, and—

This would be the ultimate show of his power. His control.

Lars tapped a button on his radio. "Lieutenant Glenn."

"Yes, L—"

"I want a god-proof clear box, about the size of half a classroom. Big enough to fit eight individual platforms and a podium, but not too big. And bring G8 down."

Stunned silence. "G…eight?"

"Yes. Quickly. Now go get busy. I have to call my press secretary."

Was it theatrical? Yes. Would it scare the living daylights out of all of them?

Yes.

O-o

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, what the _risk _is?" Dr. Kunhyi raised his eyebrows. Thick eyebrows left unaffected by his receding hairline. Lars realized with a jolt that his dad was old. Nealry sixty. Or was he even older than that? It was hard to remember.

"Of course I know." Sixty, and he still questioned his son? "If you cared—where were you yesterday?"

"At the doctor."

Ew. Even more evidence of his age. Lars shrugged. "Anyway. It's going to be great. Total psyche-out. And they can't escape. I've thought up every possibility."

"As long as you're sure." Ten brought their plates, and Lars dug into his French toast. Maybe he should go eat it in front of the prisoners. All they got was that disgusting gloop once a day. The Hunters hadn't been eating theirs. He made a mental note to go deal with that. No one starving to death when he had questions to ask.

French toast was delicious. He'd just have to go about changing the name if he was going to publically declare his support. He didn't want anyone to think he was French, or was biased towards France in any way.

Muttering something about another doc appointment, his dad left, leaving Lars in the kitchen with Ten.

He invited her to sit down.

O-o

She knew something was up when they made her take a shower. At first, she imagined acid being dropped on her, but Rueben and the others came out alive. So she stood under the water, clothes still on, water ice cold, and tried not to think about how she was giving into their demands far too easily.

Or maybe nothing was up. Maybe it was just that she was now sitting in the cold basement, considering freezing to death.

"You shouldn't have worn jeans in the shower, genius." Rueben pointed out. "Those'll be wet for days."

Days. How long had she been there? Three days? Three feedings, at least. One day of excruciating pain in her arm.

"Because I'm so much more likely to part with my pants in this place," she snapped, rubbing the wet denim. God knows what crap they'd make her wear instead. She shouldn't be cold. She was locked here in a cell and being cold should not be an issue. She should be more worried about the hunger. The pain. The worry. Willow. Wondering what was going on back at camp…

Footsteps in the hall.

A familiar face. Two familiar faces, and a whole slew of ones that did not look friendly. But she ignored those, focusing on the first two. One that she had been missing for three days, another that she had wanted for five years.

Eden scrambled to her feet, leaned as far as she could towards the door. The metal bit her ankle; a warning. Don't go farther. But she had to.

"Artemis?"

O-o

When they were informed that the slaves were to get into the back of a dark van, be boarded up, and transported somewhere unknown, Twelve's first thought was _thank god I don't have to deal with the prisoners anymore. _

Her second thought was _holy fuck where are they taking us did they find out about my dad are they going to kill us is Lars mad that we make fun of him sometimes maybe he hates Lady Gaga what the fuck is going to happen to us. _

The second thought was probably the more rational one, and they all stared at Dr. Kunhyi in various stages of freight and disbelief.

"What's going on?" Ten gently closed the dining room door behind her. At the sight of Lars's father, she dropped her eyes to the floor, and bowed. A wordless apology for speaking.

Once the novelty of owning people had worn off, Lars had hardly taken notice of his slaves. Twelve couldn't imagine why he would do so now. The only conclusion she reached as she followed the others out was that the reason couldn't be good.

And that she was terrified. There was that, too. At least they were all going together.

Being shoved into the dark with seven other people was eerily similar to when she had first been rounded up—before she know anything, about the gods, or about people, really—and the thought was enough to set off a large scale panic attack. Memories. Memories were the worst. About being pulled publically out of school, test lying half finished on her desk, gone, whole life, no goodbyes. Just gone, and here she was.

Fifteen's fingers dug into her arm, and she wondered if he was remembering the same thing.

The car started, bumps in the road causing them to crash into each other. Fifty Seven didn't seem to care about that, probably couldn't hear their shouts of protest as she drove with reckless abandon.

"I feel like a horse," Six muttered.

"I wish I _was_ a horse." Ten's voice said. "Animals still have rights."

"Horses are dumb. They have to work harder than we do."

"That's just because you just clean toilets, Fiver. You don't do basement— "

"Gods, One. Don't be a jerk." Six again. Twelve tried to tune out the idiotic debate as the parties involved—"Yay or Neigh," Fifteen joked,- got louder, more passionate.

Like they had a choice or something. _Excuse me, Kronos, can you please turn me into a horse? _

There was nothing, no world, just voices in the dark and the feeling of Fifteen's hand keeping her from floating off, Six's breathing in her ear.

By the time they were let out, Twelve had determined that she was not going to throw up. It was a close call. Closer too when they were led up a set of stairs onto a balcony overlooking a stage.

People. So many people. Rumors flitting from mouth to mouth. But one glance at Twelve and the others, and people shied away.

"Don't look at them," Fifty-Seven snapped.

O-o

Artemis. Here here here. Six years of leadership vanished. She was little again. Mom just dead, running from monsters. Finding a camp. None of the person she had become since then. It was Artemis. Artemis back, Artemis in chains being led off too god knows where.

_Who's still alive?_ Why she was here, Eden didn't want to know. Didn't want to answer her question. Didn't want to think about the bus moving underneath her or how they could have, should have, made a break for it when they were taken out of Lars's mansion but didn't even have time to think…

_Dawn. Marisol. Lily, _Willow thought after a long moment of silence. Or what would appear to be silence, that was really Eden staring straight ahead and telling herself not to think.

_None of the others…_

_No._ She didn't want to think about this, couldn't think about this. (Thalia would be brave in this situation. Eden wasn't.) _M'lady, why are you here? Why did they bring you? _

_Presumably to make a point. That's what they do best. _

_But Lars doesn't have the power to bring you out of…_

_Lars can ask, and it seems someone answered. _

Faces around them. Voices. Words. Sunlight, real sunlight as they stepped through a heavy metal door and out towards a public square through a glass tunnel. It was hot in here.

_At least my clothes might dry. _

_What? _

_Nothing, Willow. Are you okay? _

Why did she even ask? She could tell by the bandage on Willow's arm that she wasn't okay. By the blank face and pale skin. It was her job to protect her, and she had failed. _At least she's alive. At least she can walk. _

This thought she did not let the other two see.

Why didn't she put up a fight when they pulled the three apart, put them on their own wooden platforms? Why didn't she threaten someone when they put nooses around their necks?

Was it relief, that death would be that easy?

O-o

"Lord Lars is such a sadist," Six muttered.

"We are gathered here today…" the amplified voice from the microphone silence the crowds of people. "to hear the sentences of the people here. Those that have been sentenced to death will be hanged…"

What kind of sick mind game was this? (Was this America? Did it matter?) If only some had been sentenced to death, why were they all waiting for hanging? _Don't kill them. _(What was worse. Death or life in Lars's basement? Was death just an escape?)

"Alvo, Rueben…is convicted or murder, armed rebellion, refusal to cooperate," the man was saying. "Assault, heresy, thievery, treason."

"You mean you're not going to ask how I plead?" Rueben asked. Twelve thought of him in the cell. Thought of Legweak. Maybe he should die here. Maybe that would be better—

The charges were read to the others. None of them spoke, nor looked at each other. Isaac, studying the sky. Benjamin, the floor. Joseph, fists clenched. Elizabeth, looking out at the crowd. Emmerson, studying a blank point in space as though it was a great work of art.

"Cavenough, Willow." The two Hunters both looked tiny next to the adults, but Willow far younger. (Artemis hardly looked older, but no one pointed this out.) Small, but unafraid. Studying Lars as though he were a math problem. _Does she want to die? _

Her list of crimes was even longer. Enough to make the large audience mutter. (Did they not like seeing an eleven year old girl being hanged either?)

"Anything to add?' he concluded.

Willow looked away from the crowd, up at the sky. "Nah." Her voice was high pitched. Childlike. "that list sums it up pretty well. Except that most of the murders were in self-defense, AndLilyifyou'rewatchingdon'tforgetto—"

"Enough." One of the guards reached out, grabbing her arm. She pulled away.

There was a screen showing her face, for those far away, as if this was a sporting match. Twelve chose to watch this instead of the actual people below. Pretend it was a movie. But then… she imagined jumping down, down fifteen feet, landing in the masses of people and being able to run…

Commotion in the box. Emmerson's face on the screen. "Get your hands off her." The words were barely whispered, but it wasn't hard to read her lips.

The man banged his gavel. "Enough. Emmerson, Eden."

The defendant didn't give any reaction.

"You are hereby charged with murder, assault, leading armed resistance, conspiracy, occult—"

O-o

"—trasson, herecy, terrorism…"

Maybe it was a bit theatric. But no one could argue that their lives weren't in his hands. They didn't know what would happen, and it was beautiful. They were scared. They were all scared. He could tell by the clenching of fists, the sweat on the tall man's forehead. Beautiful.

"…murder of a prisoner…"

"It wasn't murder. It was practically a reward."

_Someone shut her up. _

Lars started to make his way towards the stage. If he didn't need her to talk he'd cut out her tongue…

"See, when you're seconds away from _explaining about Olympian communication_, in the process of being castrated—" mutters from the crowd. Lars had the urge to laugh. If they knew what he could do, fine. Fear won. Fear always made them listen. "— nd your hands are crushed from when you betrayed your army, and it's never going to stop, death is sometimes the better option."

'—worship of false deities,' he continued talking over her. "Anything to add?"

"Nah," she mimicked Willow. "I'm not going to die. I'm sure we'll get the chance to chat sometime in the future."

_Ha. _

Whispers. A dramatic rescue planned? Of course not. Lars mounted the steps, going through the thin door and into the protected glass area. Nothing could reach them in here.

"Really now." She jumped at his voice. She hadn't seen him coming. Point. "What makes you say that?"

She turned for real, smiling brightly. "Because I haven't said anything important. And because you're not going to kill me by something as painless as hanging."

O-o

They always fell for it. Emmerson and Lars, on stage. They always loved to see it—maybe it was why everyone came. To see them poke at each other. Hatred is a spectator sport. Still. The media let it all go on too long, Twelve figured. Something was going to happen…

"You're not this chatty back there," Lars muttered. Eden shrugged.

"No point in talking when the only person around is about to torture you for information. Makes you want to stay silent as long as possible."

She had guts, Twelve had to give her that. Fr being the only one speaking there.

Lord Lars huffed, gestured to the judge. "Proceed, Lieutenant."

O-o

She couldn't die. But then, they could still break her neck. Magic rope that kept her from changing form. Leaving her in pain and unable to move for a few weeks—or until they decided to have her heal so she could go back to holding the sky…

"Everyone ready over there?" Lars ambled towards them, gesturing to the mortal man holding Rueben's lever. Then he would go to the others, to all of them, until they stopped and everyone knew for sure who was dead and who was not.

Dead. Silence. Peace.

_Make him angry. _

She wanted to go too.

O-o

"Nope."

Emmerson. Again. He was going to ignore her, she just couldn't shut up—

Her hand jumped to her shoulder, as though reaching for something she had forgotten was gone. He had a good guess. '

"I'd lend you a bow. But wait, I forgot—you couldn't shoot it, could you."

The broken wrist twitched, held at an awkward angle from her body. "I could stick your head in it, tilt it to the right angle, and yank hard enough to cut your throat with the string." She couldn't be as detached as she sounded…

Awkward silence.

"Well it's a good thing there aren't any bows here, right? Now unless you're asking to be killed—"

"I'm dying when I want to." Emmerson shrugged. Smart aleck teenager. Thank god he wasn't one of those anymore.

Her eyes were darting from person to person in the crowd. The crowd was nothing, though. Just a sea of meaningless faces. Mortals coming to watch, because they were required to do so. Some because they wanted to. "When no one needs me here anymore. Then I'll just go and die on my own. Turn into a little pile of ashes and you won't be able to do a thing about it."

She was leaning forward, just a little. As though she was trying to pull the noose off her neck.

_You dare—_Lars sprang forward, grabbing her shoulder, pulling her back. And… did she just flinch? Yes.

"You're scared of me," he hissed. She glanced from Artemis back to him.

"Last time we had a fair fight, you were left for dead in the men's department with boxers on your head." She made no effort to lower her voice.

"Whatever." He was only nineteen then. Now he was almost twenty five. He would best her the next time. No, there would never be a next time. She would never be able to lift a sword again once he dealt with her for this… We're off schedule." He moved back. "ready whenever you are, Dedrik"

O-o

_Wait for it. Wait for it. _

Any human who died on the gallows was lucky. Lucky. _Remember that, Eden, remember—remember—remember—_

_Think!_

"Once there was a man, standing outside a bar." Rueben muttered. Dedrik gripped the handle. One pull was all it would take for the ground to give way. "And there was this really hot lady waiting outside. He walked up to her, and—"

_Thunk. _

His feet fell through the floor. Neck bent, mouth half open. Punch line lost.

There wasn't time to appreciate the quickness of death. The way the underworld could open its mouth and swallow someone whole. Especially not as Isaac fell on her other side.

It had been easy to stall before. That's all she had been doing. Maybe some people in the audience would think of it as bravery, but if she had been brave, she would have stood there and not cared. Not tried to goad him, tried to make him kill her.

_Thunk. _A gasp, as Joseph was lost forever. And it was horrible, horrible to stand here, watching them die while she lived, even worse to be a little jealous.

One of the women whose name Eden didn't know. One last gasp. Nothing. Then, the other two, one after another. No time to think about it, to ask if they wanted to be dead. Leaving only—

And then Dedrik reached out, put a hand on the lever by Willow, the one that would decide if she lived or not—

-and though she knew the gallows were the better death, she told her brain this, but her heart did not listen, her hand started to heat up—

-he passed by Willow, a sigh from the crowd, walked towards Artemis—

_God-proof rope. God-proof glass. _

_Eden-proof? _

She wasn't a god. Was that enough of a difference? _Artemis. _She had to try. Lars was staring at the crowd. She had to try.

So she let go.

Ropes off her hands. _Szzzt. _Hands to noose. Anger. Noose. Burning. Rope snapping. Her arm hurt…

Dedrik by Artemis. Puling handle.

No time to run for her. Raise hand.

_Szzt. _

Not bang?

Was that progress?

Rope broken. Handle pulled, and Artemis neatly stepped to one side, balancing on the frame. A roar of anger.

With the noose still around her neck, the goddess would be devoid of powers. Three dead men away. Eden ran.

Isaac's eyes, blank, stared back at her. She wanted to close them, hide from the masses the gruesome image, but no time. It took Lars a full two seconds to grasp what was happening. And then they were after her.

Jump from platform to platform. To Artemis. She grabbed the noose part, tried to get the knot off, but then something—Kunhyi—hit her and she went falling, falling forwards.

The glass box spun. The wide, terrified eyes of the crowd. Head to floor. Ow. Pushing Lars. Lieutenant Glenn reaching for Willow.

_Bang. _

Willow free, Eden's hand were burning,Willow running to Artemis.

_Distract. _

_Hole. Get us out. _

Bang.

O-o

_No. No._Not here, not now. Lieutenant Glenn was facing a serious demotion here. All the way down to Hell for his faulty rope.

He didn't want to get closer to Emmerson. His hair was still on end from the last blast that had sent him rolling across the box. The display case. At least the glass wasn't going out as easily. Cracks widened with her repeated blasts, sent like a hammer—_bang. Bang. Bang—_but it was only big enough for a fist to get through. And she was tiring. He could tell.

Sword drawn, he snuck up behind her. Raised the weapon.

One final blast made the hole about the size of his head. Screaming people backed away.

Then—

Claws raked the top of his head.

_What?_

He looked up.

Not claws, talons. A hawk squeezed its way through the hole, then shot up, _up, _crowing in delight.

No.

"Shoot!"

The little hunter stood where Artemis had been, a loop of rope lying at her feet. Untied. Pulled over a goddess's head.

O-o

Glenn, Kunhyi and Dedrik ran for Willow. Pushed her to the ground. Kicking. Lars showing his sword, threatening—_but they're not going to kill her, not yet, they didn't hang her—_

"Get off." Emmerson scrambled to her feet and dove into the fight, doing her best to ignore the protest of her wrist. _Ow. _

_But you're not scared. _

She grabbed the nearest person she could—Dedrik—pulled him out. For one moment, she was half on his back, then they fell. He turned, pinning her down with his knee.

Hands around her neck. He good hand on his, knuckles white, trying, desperately, to kill him with one hand. She couldn't breathe. There was nothing. Nothing but the leftover feelings.

Anger.

Hate.

Fear.

Pain.

Loss.

Death, reaching for her. She would fight it…

_Artemis free. _

She couldn't die now.

Anger.

Hate.

Pain.

Fury.

His hands on her neck. Too close. It made the skin feel gross.

She couldn't breathe.

He grunted, trying to squeeze tighter.

Willow, crying out in pain. Not more than a few feet away.

_Don't you dare hurt her. Don't you dare. _

Dedrik.

Hardly any warning. She was anger. All anger. It took over, consumed her.

The tug came from somewhere in her body, so fast she didn't hardly notice. One second, there was nothing. Then, Dedrik's eyes widened in shock before being replaced by white flames. His hair followed. Flames shooting out his ears, as if his very blood had been set on fire.

He screamed once before rolling, lying there like a dead bug. On his back, legs and arms stuck out. Burning, unnatural white flames.

It took her a few seconds to realize.

_My fault. _

She had touched a person, and he burned. What was that? how had she done that? she couldn't do that.

_Tired. _

She was tired. Willow rolled towards her, kicking at someone, reached towards Eden one bloody hand. The lieutenant tried to stand, but the world was whirling.

_Stuck on a merry-go-round. _

Then she was falling back, back, space twisting. Energy burned out of her body.

For one second, there was nothing but Lars's scream of anger.

Then even that faded.

_Fuck. Not again. Fuck. Fuck. _

O-o

**I considered breaking this up into two chapters but I couldn't find a good place to stop. **

**This is also probably my last update for a couple weeks. On Monday, I am sailing off into a Land Unknown, in which I will procure 50,000 words of fantasy. I have never before in my life written fantasy, so this should be interesting. Hopefully I'll update at least once, but I hope that even if it takes a month you'll all read it anyway. **

**Hp—**yep. Lars and Eden are more similar than they'll ever admit. And yes. They're both crazy ;)

**RIDE—**me siento mejor ahora que el capítulo se hace.

**Morganic- **we have laX, it's just not a big deal. Since most of the school does sports, it's just like… whatever. Haha. And yes, Lars is kind of sick.

**Tony—**I considered, but I'm probably going to keep this just in PJO. I think it would get confusing. And Chiron is somewhere. : )

**AHumanRobot—**you're welcome. And yeah. I don't know. Long stuff is kind of my thing. You might not have noticed XD

**Fish—**you don't really need it. But k.

**I KNOW WHO: **Yeah. Eden's more… well, she's kind of a lunatic. She was saner in the beginning and now she's sliding downward. And yes, it starts in three days : ) . That is an awesome quote. I haven't seen Castle, but I did recently discover the Sherlock show. And I love it. I'm such a nerd.

**Emily—**well, wait no longer = ) 


	32. Chapter 32

_"You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind."  
— __Mahatma Gandhi_

**Because Gandhi is cool. And because irony is cool. Why is it irony, you ask? Well… I'll leave that up to you. Want to take a stab at it? Of course you do. **

**O-o**

"You." Foot to leg. A kick. A gasp. "Are." Hitting knee this time. Another gasp. It was really hurting her. "An." _Crack. _She cried out for real this time. "Idiot." And he stopped, standing just behind her, staring down.

She didn't move.

She hadn't moved much at all in the last week, since that—that _incident _with the hangings. The dead bodies were still on the gallows, rotting before the public's eyes. A warning. No one messed with him like that and lived.

He couldn't decide if her silence was an improvement or not. On the one hand, it was a sign of defeat. This he knew. This he loved. Loved the way she cringed ever so slightly when he go too near, the way she would gasp sometimes in pain, because that meant she was screaming on the inside. Every disapproving glare, every punishment from the Titan lord, every laugh by a citizen, she was going to pay for ten times over. And he was finally, finally making progress..

"I can't even bring you to my torture rooms because everyone's afraid of you trying to get away." He leaned closer to her, breathing into her face. He didn't get a reaction this time. Just a pair of eyes staring at him, expressionless. How did she do it? "So I brought some stuff along with me. See, here's the knife. It's a tried and tested technique." He poked her with the tip of it. A bead of blood welled up, a pinprick. Not enough to hurt. She jumped, probably more from the surprise than anything.

Blood. It was beautiful, really. Going from blue to red to brown. So many colors in the space of just a few minutes. The way it dotted her grimy arm, crawled down it, slowly, so slowly like rain on a window.

"Answer me!" He snapped, grabbing her shoulder.

"What do you want me to say?" Rough voice. Like gravel. She didn't look at him, though. Just sat there, leaning against the wall. Leg twisted. It must be painful. She should be screaming. Why wasn't she?

"I want you…" he grabbed her shoulder. "I want you to tell me where the base is. I want you to tell me how you communicate. I want you to tell me how I can trap Galdstrup and Johnson and all the others. I want you to tell me everything you know about the gods and their locations. I want you to tell me the state of your ammunitions and—"

"And I want the ground to open up and swallow you whole but I think that the likelihood is the same." Still quiet. But at least he was finally getting a reaction out of her.

He pulled her up by the shoulder in one yank. Could feel her muscles tensing as she tried to pull away. But she couldn't stand—her leg buckled under her, and finally he got the yelp of pain. At last. She deserved it, oh how she deserved it. He pressed her face first against the wall with one hand, just high enough that her bad leg dangled and the other couldn't reach the floor. She was out of reactions. He could tell by the way she didn't even try to kick at him.

A nice change, he decided.

Wondering how long she'd stay silent, he pushed up her shirt, studying her back. An area well protected by armor, it was free of scars. A blank canvas. He thought of those drawing board his grade school art teachers would have them work on. But no one had ever recognized how much better the human body was. He traced a line of muscles with his knife. It was an uneven surface, not the best for sculpting, but it had all the veins. Depending on where you cut, the blood would well up in different globs. Just spots. Or the curve of the shoulder blades. So much potential, he reflected, pressing the knife against one spot, not hard enough to draw blood. She tensed a little more, and he wondered if she was going to make a break for it.

"Want me to repeat my list of questions?"

Her head moved a little. Side to side. No.

"Have any answers for me?"

She shook her head again. (Figures.)

Regrettable, but expected. He dug the knife into her back, admiring the line of blood that trickled down. Staining the skin.

She kicked at him with her good leg, pushing against the wall with her good arm.

"I like you a lot better crippled." Because all the efforts were pathetic.

Her vocal cords were still intact, no matter what she pretended. He could hear her hissing.

The line was curved a little, giving him an idea. One that he knew was a little insane but that would agitate her to no end. Carefully, he drew a symmetrical one, from the bottom of her shoulder blades to the small of her back. Added a few marks above them. A few in between. She tried kicking at him again, tried moving away. Failed so miserably it was almost funny. No, it was funny, and he laughed, knowing nothing would infuriate her more.

Every little thing, every joke he had been the butt of. Every newspaper article hinting that he wasn't effective. Every glare from Kronos. Every disappointed look he got from his father. All. her. Fault.

When he finished his picture, he tilted his head to the one side, studying it. The blood ran down, blurring the lines, but they were there. Clear enough, he supposed, if she lived long enough to take note. And she was half gasping in pain, and he knew, he knew how much that must hurt. He wasn't an idiot. He knew to avoid major veins, didn't want her bleeding to death. But he could cause pain, even to people that refused to show it. He _knew. _

Lars took a few steps away. It only took her a few seconds longer than usual to turn around. To sit down again, angling her bad leg away from him. Staring up at him with those blank eyes. Eyes that were probably hiding something else but he didn't know what.

Didn't care what. It wasn't his job to care what she was thinking. It was only what came out of her mouth that was important.

"Any answers?" He squatted next to her. Took on the tone many adults would use when talking with a child. "Do you know the answer?"

"Probably." She closed her eyes. No. He reached for her again, dug his fingers into her arm until she looked back at him.

"Does Eden want to tell Lars about it?"

She just looked away again. Not even bothering for a smart retort.

"Do I let you off this time and come back soon?" He smiled, dangling the possibility in front of her. She wanted him gone. Sometimes power came in mercy, too. He knew how to scare her. He knew how to increase her heartbeat, to send her into a silent panic. He _knew, _and with that… that was everything.

So he kicked her in the side. Hard.

"That was for the snort at the council meeting," he said. And then he marched into the hall.

She just stared after him.

O-o

It hurt. Why did it hurt? It shouldn't. She should be able to control the pain. To make it go away. Didn't most people do that?

Sighing, she tried to get a little more comfortable in the cell. Tried to get her back—what had he done?—from up against the wall. Pull her shirt a little away from it so that the cotton wasn't rubbing the open wound. But she couldn't move. It hurt it hurt it hurt.

Maybe it would be better just to die here. To bleed everything out until there was nothing left. Maybe she should just…

The creak of the door alerted her to his return, and she could feel her nerves shutting down as everything slipped away in preparation for—

But it wasn't Lars.

It was one of the slaves, holding a small white box.

"I've been told to bandage you up."

Almost funny. She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Well he doesn't want you dead." _News to me. _The slave sighed, getting down on her knees, leaning forward some. Opening the box, revealing a disorganized mash of medical supplies. "So if you can…"

Eden hesitated. Wondered for a moment if she should refuse to let her. If she should just die. But no. because then they would think she had given up and she had not given up. Never would give up. (Though what she was waiting for she didn't know.) (Willow?)

But it hurt too damn much. So she turned a little.

The slave leaned forward more until her mouth was almost level with her ear.

"Gregory Galdstrup." The hiss made her jump. "Is he still alive?"

What?

"Don't you know?" She whispered back, though if Lars had sent the slave to question her it wouldn't matter if anyone heard. Was this his new tactic? "If he's been on the news."

"We're not allowed to watch anything. I don't know what's been happening at all."

There was something up here. She didn't want to think about Greg. About how he and the others at camp were getting along, if they had their food now. Didn't know. Still, she turned back towards the slave. Tried to ignore the pain in her back.

"Why do you care?"

Two brown eyes stared at her. Familiar eyes. The brown hair that when long hovered in that half state between curly and wavy. But when short, shot out in all directions, almost standing on end. The fingers. Long, thin, with the unusually short thumb.

No.

No way.

"He…" the slave stopped speaking, watched her. But her lip. "He…"

How had she not seen it before? Had she noticed the slaves at all? Maybe not, because this girl didn't look familiar.

But of course she looked familiar.

And yet it couldn't be.

"_Adrienne?" _

O-o

**I've been typing this chapter pretty randomly. You know, a hundred words here a hundred words there, then reading through and making it all fit together. More of a filler, but, well, at least there's some blood. (Right, Draco?) **

**I'm currently at 23, 232 words for NaNo. And 23,232 is an ideal time to stop and take a break to update TYOOT, no? **

**Peter—**did you ever see the Sherlock show? Sorry. The word sociopath just reminded me of it.

**Morganic—**Dr. Kunhyi could be sick, couldn't he? It's an interesting theory. That's usually why people go to the doctor.

**Emily—**thanks.

**Shrrg—**Did I cut out the part where the slaves were arguing about being horses? I can't remember. And yeah. I have fun adding random references.

**You Know Who—**yeah. She's going a little loopy. And NaNo's fun : ) yeah the POVs are interesting because I know I can only have the three, so it takes away the temptation to have a random Peter POV chapter or something. XD nice quote.

**Hp—**yeah, I kind of got so fed up with the last chapter that I only read it through twice. And god knows I can't pick up typos in that time—look at CG. *has a horrible eye for spelling*

**AHumanRobot—**eh, not really. I mean, look at Harry Potter. We never get a tour of Ron's head, do we? Or Lost Hero, I guess. And in Uglies we never randomly star being David. And we never randomly turn into Brom. Some books, like Everlost, can change character POVs midsentence, but that really annoys me. I'm RunawayMarbles, as you already know. Good job on your WC.


	33. Chapter 33

_"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."  
— __Carrie Fisher_

When was the last time someone had called her by her name? Twelve jumped, mouth automatically opening to correct her.

"I'm Twelve."

Emmerson just stared back, grey eyes expressionless. "Twelve?"

She looked down at her hands, still holding the bandages out, as though she expected the hunter to take them. "I… it's my number. I'm Twelve."

"I see." (But of course she didn't see. She was Eden Emmerson and probably never had problems with feelings of inferiority.) "How long have you been…?" and there was a note of awe to her voice.

How long has it been? She realied that she didn't know how old she was. "What year is it?"

Emmerson went very still. "2017." And there was a touch of defiance in her voice. Even a small rebellion, using the right date, seemed to make her happy.

2017. "Five years." April. She had just turned fifteen when she was taken, her birthday wasn't for months, so that made her—"I'm nineteen." Nineteen. Legally an adult, but she had spent all her time here. Not in the real world. Not growing up. Not learning.

_You're supposed to be in college right now. _

She didn't feel nineteen. She felt like time had been frozen since she had been taken here. Like she wasn't supposed to age, like time wasn't going to pass. This was just a side trip.

But there was a more important question here.

Twelve swallowed. Raised the bandage again. "Can I?"

A long moment of silence. Emmerson just stared back at her, face blank. It took Twelve a minute to realize that she was chewing her lip, looking—indecisive? Then the reflections of her eyes disappeared as she closed them.

Why was she… she had meant it as rhetorical.

Finally, a nod. A quick one.

"You never answered," Twelve whispered. Then a little louder—"Where?" It was hard to tell where the blood was new.

Another pause.

"Back."

Before, it was the stomach. He seemed to love that, pushing her shirt up a few inches, studying the stripe of skin. The exaggerated slowness in anything he did. Enjoying the disgust on her face. (It was almost loving, his expression, as he caressed the skin with one of his shining knives, or a hot poker. And she would stay silent, she always did, but Twelve could see how her muscles would clench as he'd push the shirt, a little higher, just to annoy her. Even though everyone there knew he wouldn't actually _rape _her both because he had too much pride and because she would blast him into pieces.)

"And my dad?" Twelve carefully peeled Emmerson's shirt up. And had a strange desire to laugh. To laugh, or to be disgusted. But it was so—so _juvenile, _so immature, and yet so Lars at the same time.

"Alive."

All the tension seemed to leave. She hadn't realized how dependent she was on the answer_, this _answer. And then she was smiling, even though it was the wrong place, wrong time… but he was alive.

"Alive." It was a beautiful word, really. Twelve carefully unrolled some of the bandage, placed it against the Hunter's back. "How is he?"

She sighed. Looked over her shoulder, sizing the other girl up. It wasn't hard for Twelve to guess that she was wondering if she was a spy.

"Greg's great," she murmured. Her head tilted sideways, resting against the stone."He's always great."

"What's he like, now?" It shouldn't be a big question, but she had to know. Had to know if the man she once knew as her father had been covered up by years of war and pain and loss. She applied the bandages more slowly now, wanting to make the time last, wanting to not look at the other places in the cell where Rueben and the others once sat.

"He's sort of…" she hesitates. "He's brilliant. With strategy and things. And he's…"another pause, and the words come, faster and faster. Like she's been waiting for a chance to let them all out. "He's like everyone's dad, ya know? Since a lot of our people are a lot younger. And half-bloods never know their parents. And he knows how to make people laugh. And that's something that's… that's more than priceless when people are dying of hunger and risking their lives daily. And he kind of… he's more cautious, than other people—well ok, he's a lot more cautious than I am so we balance each other out and… and he's _Greg. _And… " she stopped.

Twelve couldn't help the feelings of pride stirring up. That her father was the one who Eden Emmerson, of all people, spoke so highly of.

Pride, and—and was that envy? Because she and all these other strangers had spent the last five years with him. Getting to know him. Fighting with him. _He's like everyone's dad, _but he was only supposed to be hers.

"He thinks you're dead." And the words cut into her, split her in half. Her hands went limp, bandage fluttering to the floor. Instantly becoming useless as they picked up whatever infection lived in here.

"Oh." It was the only thing that she could say. (Was that why he hadn't even tried to find her?) "What about…" did she ask about her mom? Did she want to? Last she'd heard her mother had been a cook in another lieutenant's household. And if she asked, if she found out that that wasn't the case— (But they thought _she _had been dead so their information couldn't be accurate)—Twelve she looked around, desperately, for another question. "Are you really that old?"

As questions went, it was pathetic, and she could tell that the other girl knew. But she answered anyway. (How long had it been since she'd had a real conversation? She'd been here two and a half weeks already.)

"My stepfather died at Gettysburg." Silence. "Old enough?"

"I'm sorry."

Emmerson shrugged, just a little, then gasped as it tugged on her back. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago. I don't even remember what he looked like."

What were you supposed to say to that?

"It doesn't matter," the Hunter repeated. Then a sigh. "It happens to all of us eventually. Being forgotten. First we're alive and people know us. And then we die and people are sad for a bit. And then they stop thinking about you after a few years. And after a few decades, if you're lucky, you end up as a question on a history test. But most people are just… gone. And after a few hundred years you're not even a question, just a note in the book that no one bothers to write down. And then you're just… gone." Her voice was fading, and Twelve wondered if she was getting sick, or just overtired. But the idea made her uncomfortable. The implication that nothing really mattered.

"You don't talk like you're from the 1800s."

Her voice grew a little clearer. "You don't speak baby talk anymore either, Adrienne."

"_Twelve." _

Emmerson pulled away, one of the adhesive bandages hanging halfway off her back. Turned to face her. "Why do you do that?"

Twelve glanced out at the hall. The thin beams of light coming in through the bars. No one was there. Of course not. No one ever came down here. "Do what?"

The grey eyes facing her were looking more interested, more alive than they had in days. Not fading and sleepy like she'd sounded. "Let him call you that. Insist on not being called by your name."

_Because I'm not Adrienne anymore. _ Because it was wrong ot be called Adrienne. Not here. Not when she was forced not to be anything. Calling her by her name would be like expecting her to eb the person she used to be, and she wasn't.

She wasn't that person, and she never would be again so why even bother to pretend?

O-o

Her hands shook as she ran up the stairs. Gasped for breath. She couldn't do this, she couldn't. She had just had a conversation with a girl who she would probably end up watching die a painful death, and she hadn't been crazy… (Of course this was the person who had blown up buildings, the San Francisco airport, who had killed dozens of people, and yet…)

"Twelve."

She jumped, whirling towards Dr. Kunhyi was standing near the phone. Watching her intently.

"I'm sorry sir I—"

"Twelve, I need you to go weed the pansy patch." The words were slow, deliberate. As though he wanted her to set aside the fact that she was a basement slave, not a gardener. As though—

"The pansy patch?"

"Yes."

Six and Two usually did the gardening. But maybe Six wasn't around, or maybe he'd noticed something else. It happened. They didn't really care which slave was which as long as there was one around to do whatever the hell had to be done.

And it was nice to finally feel the earth. To have the sun shine on her as she yanked plants out of the all too forgiving soil.

_It happens to all of us eventually. Being forgotten. _

The words wouldn't get out of her head. It wasn't as though she had expected otherwise, but there was a finality, an acceptance of death and nothingness. And she didn't like it.

_And after a few decades, if you're lucky, you'll end up as a question on a history test. But most people are just… gone._

Why did it matter? Why did she care? She tried instead ot think about her dad, and the urge to see him took over. And she wished, wished, wished so hard that at first she thought the whisper of her name was imagined. Because for the second time that day—that hour—

"_Adrienne." _

It was a hiss, a quickly stifled one. Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

"Who…" she couldn't finish the sentence. Because suddenly, a pair of eyes appeared.

Her eyes, staring back at her from the leaves.

Things that were too good to be true usually were, and so this had to be. Because—because—

"Adrienne," the voice said again. And suddenly four more eyes were there. Two green, two black. But she didn't look at them for long, just stared, stared at the brown ones, brown eyes, _her _eyes—and his face was forming—

(Was it real or was she dreaming?)

(Did she care?)

"_Dad._"

They stared at each other for a moment. The shock. The perfect timing. Everything, nothing, the whole world coming to a stop.

Two other faces were forming, just shadows on the leaves. Like they were there, but—not—

"How?" She tried to think of a sentence, a question, but it wouldn't come. All she could do was wave her hand in their general direction. "Faces."

"Hermes's trick. God of thieves," said the black eyes. Twelve nodded, then turned, continued staring at her father as though afraid he would disappear if she blinked—

But he was speaking now—

"How long have you been here?" The words were careful. Quiet. Half afraid of the answer. And Twelve looked around once, to make sure no one was there, before she said anything else.

"Five years."

"The whole time." His face was shaking. "The whole time, and—thought you were either dead or on the other side of the country… you've been in the city the…"

His eyes disappeared, and she assumed that he had closed them.

"We thought it was you," the black eyes—now turning into a light brown face with a black ponytail—whispered.

"What?"

"When they flew over the crowd. During the… _executions. _There were camera shots of the crowd and Greg was sure he saw you… and so he had to come, just in case. But we didn't want—"

To get their hopes up.

"I'm guessing that you're not here for me. And I'm hoping you have a whole army out there hiding too." Twelve turned, stared at her meager pile of weeds. Yanked another few out. Freedom. Maybe they could get her out too—her and Fif and Six and Ten.

"We've been scouting the place for a couple days," said black eyes. Her voice was tense. "Close enough to go back whenever we want, but an army won't do much here…"

"Dawn!"

"It's nothing Kunhyi doesn't know already."

The shortest of pauses. Then, two questions at once. "Are you OK?" and "Are they…?" two questions from two different sources. One caring about her, the other not. But it was the first question that she couldn't answer, that she would never answer. (And he had to know that she couldn't too. He had to know, so why did he even ask?)

"They're both alive." She tugged at a dandelion, a dandelion that had it's roots firmly thrust into the dirt. The joy of their arrival was hanging the air, but reality was coming, reality always came, dampening it—

And everyone could hear the unspoken word.

"But?" her father asked. Eyes worried. Worried about them.

"But you knew that. She wasn't lying when she said that Lord Lars wanted to keep her alive."

"_But?_"

Twelve sighed. Leaned back. Closed her eyes. "But…" God, how did she say this, how—"But the only reason Emmerson is still alive is because she's got some idea in her head that it will help the oth—Willow." But why tell them what they already knew? "And when—_if _– Willow dies then it's going to take about ten seconds—" Stop. Just stop.

But the damage had been done.

"You said when," the black eyes—Dawn—was saying. "_When._"

She stared at her father, desperate for an answer. A magical solution. She couldn't read his expression. Not anymore. But he was _there. _

"If." But it wasn't an if. It was a when. She could see it all, burned into her mind, all of it—see the knives and the torture devices, the burning skin, the screaming (anyone could see her fight to stay silent, but it failed, it always did, after awhile.) she could see the hatred on the face that pretended to be eleven years old, the little, round face that would never get older—

And her fists clenched over the dirt, she doubled over, stomach lurching—but she couldn't throw up all over Lars's pansies—

"Adrienne—"

"Twelve," she said automatically. Face burning in shame, she rolled backwards until she was sitting up again. Stared at the rebels, three of them, not broken down like the hunters but strong and full of hope and morals. And she was not one of them. Because—"My name. It's Twelve."

And the shame covered her.

On her way back to the house, she realized she was crying. But she didn't know if they were tears of joy that he had finally come, or sadness that when he did, he hadn't come for her.

**O-o**

**No blood or guts in this chapter, but there are **_**references **_**to blood and guts. For all you blood-and-guts lovers. (Don't worry. We get more of that next chapter.) **

**I'm also thinking about changing the title of this fic but I'm not sure what to yet. I'm really, really bad at those. :D any opinions? **

**Hidden Firecracker – **sometimes I speed things up because the _characters _don't really know what's going on. But mostly, it's unintentional, so if you want to point out the confusing parts I'll see if I can slow it down. And yeah… about the rambling… it's a bad habit I've fallen into because rambling is good for NaNo.

**Morganic – **yeah… Twelve does matter. Even if you didn't' think so up 'till now :D

**Hayley - ***innocent smile*

**DCThunder – **Thanks!

**Lovetoread - ***another innocent smile*

**HP – **don't worry about it. I never sound smart :D

**Biblioholic - **…Twelve. Her name is Twelve. And yes, NaNo's pretty cool. I'll probably be done early next week, though I'm barely thorough my outline.

**Tony– **I dunno : )

**Moonrise – **well he wasn't trying to draw a picture so much as make a point.

**You Know Who – **true. I also picked it because if you had to pick people that were the opposite of Ghandi, it would be Eden and Lars. :D And no I haven't. I'm saner during nano for some reason. Incantation? *makes note* that looks good.

**AHumanRobot – **Thanks : ) and yeah… Eden and Twelve and now Greg and Twelve. Huh.

**Shrrg- **it would _not. _Why are you so convinced Twelve is going to die? And I am updating on a Thursday but I doubt you're still awake.


	34. Chapter 34

_"Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."  
— __J.K. Rowling__ (__Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire__)_

She wanted nothing less than to watch. Wanted to cover her eyes and her ears and curl up into a little ball and never look up, never move again. But when it was her fault that this was happening, when it was her that could make it stop any time and yet she chose not to, to look away would be the worst she could do.

That would be abandonment.

So she watched, watched, fists clenched in the handcuffs, the handcuffs holding her back from attack, the only think keeping her from taking a flying leap at Lars Kunhyi, from bashing his head against the—

"Still not doing anything?" He looked almost amused, as though… as though what? Eden shook her head once, ignoring him, because he didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Willow, Willow who was tied down, tied down with the knives pressing into her back—

Willow—

Willow—

And somehow, Eden couldn't meet her eyes—because as Lars had told her, told her over and over, it was in her power. Hers or Willows. And neither of them was speaking— at least, not saying what he wanted them too—

Willow screamed. She could see her trying to keep it in, but there was only so long. Lars's face split into a smile, a smile of—relief?

Eden didn't know. The world had cracked, fallen to pieces—she didn't know _anything—_

The time when she thought that she knew everything was long gone, a shadow in the corner of her memory, even though it was barely two weeks past—

Willow looked at her, the desperation clear in her eyes. And Eden opened her mouth— (_it's only one question, just one, it can't hurt that much)_ (but if she told him he would know how to get her to talk in the future) (and it would never end) (they were going to die anyways) (why put it off even longer)

She watches, watches as Lars presses something hot to Willow's shoulder—_she's so little, you're sick, you're sick—_and adds another dot next to it. a curve underneath completes the smiley face—_sick sick sick leave her alone—_

She tugged at her wrists. If there was ever a time for escape, ever a time where a building, needed to be blown over, it was now. If there was ever a time when she needed to be able to blast something, it was _now, _but she had the abilities of a toddler—

Eden flung herself forward as though the chains might break as Lars studies the blisters rising, adds a touch-up to the nose—

"Oh. I guess I just ruined it," he frowns. "Here, I'll erase it and start again." (He's taunting her, she knows it, as he rubs the spot over and over with the stick, scribble lines covering the sick doodle— and Willow screams again, rolling away from him, but she's just as mobile as Eden is—)

"Let go of her," Eden managed. "Fuck, just let—"

"Your job," he smiled, turning to her. "Don't cry, Willow. I'll give you another smiley face. How about on your other arm? Oh wait… that one's all bloody…" _from one of his stupid knives, don't play stupid, it doesn't look good on you, _"Knee then? Ankle?"

Adri—Twelve trembled next to her, and Eden turned. Wanted to ask—for help? No. No, she couldn't, couldn't' expect anyone to help her because it would mean death for all of them…

Another scream. (And Eden couldn't look, because her whole body was covered in bruises and cuts. Because of the knives abd the whips and the burns and the crushed hand and she was Willow, and she hadn't caved in yet but god, she was _eleven, _eleven, give or take fifty years but—)

"We could always try the Iron Maiden," Lars mused. "Fitting, isn't it? For a maiden Hunter?"

_Iron Maiden. _Her mind spun. _Iron Maiden. Spanish Inquisition invention. Knives. Shut victim inside. Small cuts to non-vital organs. Takes days to die. _Information she had gotten from—Lydia, Lydia who had been full of such random facts—

Lydia who was dead in a mass grave somewhere—body missing—

"No," she whispered, and leaned harder. Her broken wrist complained, loudly, and her knee almost gave out as she made the mistake of putting pressure on it.

Not to mention her back, her back that hurt like hell whenever she moved—

_Fuck—_

"No." She said a little louder.

_Eden, now would be an amazing time to blow something up. _

But ever since the executions, since she'd killed that man just by touching him—it had hidden. As though it had retreated in horror at what she had done. As though her subconciousness had finally managed to kill it—

She'd touched a man and he burned—

And there was no one, no one she wanted to burn more than Lars right now (if only he had touched him at that moment instead)—and she couldn't do it.

Willow screamed louder, kicking as she was forced towards the closet—

And Eden looked at Twelve once more, but the slave wasn't watching them, she had her eyes closed—

"_The power lines!_" Willow screamed. Lars stopped.

"Come again?"

_Willow, no. _

But the smaller Hunter was crying now, crying harder—"We can code a message and send it through he power lines, and then the bases have this reader thing and they intercept the signal and—and it goes into Morse code and then they read it and that's how we coordinate everything, all the attacks, all of everything and… and… and you can get to it if you intercept it at he right spots and…"

"Interesting." But Lars was staring at Eden now, and she worked hard to keep her face blank but didn't know how well she succeeded—and his eyes were glinting as he pushed Willow away from death and with one might shove towards her lieutenant—

She stumbled, one, two steps, crashing against Eden when another shove knocked her legs out from under her. But the lieutenant's hands were tied. She couldn't reach out to her, could only lean back a little to support her weight and wonder what Lars would do to them once he realized that Willow had lied.

O-o

"Don't you have anything else?"

"Of course not. He wants to keep her alive, not make her better."

"But— there's got to be something else in there."

Twelve's thin fingers pressed the adhesive bandage against Willow's arm. "See if you can magic something else in there, then."

Why had they left Willow and Eden in the same cell? To rub in her condition? To remind Eden of what she'd be losing—as though she had to be reminded? Eden shook the white box in desperation, ignoring the strain on her back, half hoping that something _would _fall out. But the only bandage provided was in Twelve's hands, and—

Willow twitched once, and Eden pulled her a little closer, trying to use her good knee to keep the open wounds off the grimy floor. And for once she was feeling alive again—because she had a mission, which didn't make sense—but if she could save Willow—even though it might be worse for her to stay alive but—but—if what Twelve said was true—

If there was any hope, even though they shouldn't be there—

Even though Greg and Dawn and Peter shouldn't be risking their lives, and it was wrong to hope—

So wrong to hope—

She wouldn't trust Twelve except for the note. The note that had been pressed into her hand the previous morning, carefully printed on a scrap of paper:

_Veritas. _

Her response, also carefully printed, went back with Twelve. To prove that they were there and weren't acting under duress, a precaution she had sort of laughed at when Greg suggested it, back when she thought herself invincible—"_If you're writing because you're forced use cursive, if not, print_."

And that's when the plans had started, plans that she was horrible for being grateful for.

"That's all of them," Twelve said hollowly. A few wounds were still left open.

"I'd offer the bottoms of my pants," Eden muttered, "but they're already so filthy."

"Don't. It'll make it worse."

But she couldn't let Willow die. It was her job, her job as lieutenant. Her job to take care of the Hunt, and she had failed. Rio, stabbed. And now Willow, slowly bleeding to death, not even conscious—

_Don't die. _

It was all she could think. Even though she had been able to calmly calculate the benefits of dying by hanging for Rueben and the others, why now, why couldn't she just let Willow go?

O-o

**So I know there was supposed to me more gore in here. I had it all mapped out, and then I found myself unable to write it. Lame? Yeah, probably. Damn those morals! **

**In other (somewhat) exciting news: **

**I started a blog to be updated every Friday (if all goes to plan.) *poke* **_**writing-ish. Blogspot. Com.**_

And in very, very exciting news… you know how I was doing NaNoWriMo? Well, I won. I wrote 66,666 words (stopping in mid-sentence to achieve the desired number.) Then at 9:30 last night (Nov 30) my friend called to tell me that my word count had dropped down to 1.

Hi, Zoe Nightshade.

She even sent me an email this time. Something about "I promise this is the last time you'll hear from me." (She does like being dramatic.) Isn't that sweet of her. I now can't get into my NaNo account, and the word count has closed, listing me as writing one word. I went on at the last minute on a new account and validated, so at least I got my certificate… I wonder of Zoe knows that a teenager is going to jail for doing basically the same thing?

Now, rambling over, on to review replies:

**DC Thunder: **I love your username, first of all. And yeah, I suppose they sometimes do. I hate emotionless characters.

**Morganic: **yeah, it is sad. Luckily, Eden and Lars don't have ego problems so there's a bit of a balance.

**Lovetoread: **next chapter is rather violent, no worries. And Zeus.

**AHumanRobot: **crap. Ok.

**Firecracker: **Thanks! Ok. yeah if you let me know that would be amazing. : ) next chapter is more action-y.

**HAHA I KNOW WHO: **smile sideways? :D that's a funny mental image. No, not time travel. In the beginning, it _was _2012, but that was five years ago. (I _do _remind you of the date every now and then. Remember 2013 and New Years?) Yeah it was the Masterpiece Mysteries. And YESSS! YOU WATCHED! THAT MEANS THAT _SOMEONE _IS GOING TO GET MY REFERENCES. Oh that looks cool. *goes to put hold at the library* DH was awesome, did you see it?

**Nien: ***shrug* maybe. You always did have an uncanny knack for guesses, but we'll see. And how are you reading this in school?

**Hayley: **Lars is… *counts on fingers* I think he's 23 now. And still living with his dad. Pathetic, I know.

**Biblio: **Because he saw her at the trials on TV. I said that in there.

**HP: **k. guess I won't then. Heh. And anyone can guess as in? He's just drawing pwetty pictwes.


	35. Chapter 35

_"Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another."  
— __Lemony Snicket_

Twelve's hands shook as she unlocked the door. The door to… to what? It was all a question, starting now. No certainties. She was opening the iron bars, slowly, carefully, to avoid being heard, and that was an action that just might kill her.

But she was being dramatic.

It was just a door.

Emmerson was waiting next to it, just inside, one arm wrapped around Willow's shoulder. They were both so tiny. Just kids, Twelve thought, as she pushed the cart inside. And yet they were both five times as old as her, maybe more.

"Quick, quick," Willow muttered as they lifted her, her head lolling to one side and revealing an ugly burn across her neck, and lowered her into a large bucket that under normal circumstances would be used to hold soapy water. Twelve had been careful to punch air holes in inconspicuous places, but there was still a little worry as she fitted the lid on top. But no, no… it wouldn't be for very long.

Biting her lip, Emmerson crawled onto the bottom shelf, under the pile of rags. It took Twelve several minutes to arrange everything over her. Several long, agonizing minutes in which she imagined everything all falling apart, Lord Lars coming down to see what they were doing…

"I hate this." The whisper came from under the detergent.

Twelve just nodded, heart in her mouth. It had been three days of planning just to get this far, and they couldn't—her heartbeat would practically give them away—

First she had had to meet Fifteen, Ten and Six in the closet. And explained everything she'd been hiding. About her father, about the meeting in the garden, about Dr. Kunhyi—everything. Still, it had taken a lot to convince them to go.

Not least because the others might be tortured in their stead. Or because while they lived rather miserable existences here, it all seemed good in the light of the unknown. At least it was predictable. But they went, because they wanted to go as much as she did. Maybe more.

Because even she wasn't sure that this was the right decision because—

_You're not afraid, _Adrienne_. Stuff it. _

The cart was heavy, so heavy, slower than she was used to as she pushed it onto the small lift. Twelve had the random urge to pray, to make promises she wouldn't keep, like when she was younger— _if you get us out of here I'll never be scared again… I'll go do whatever I need to do just please let us all live—_there would be no one listening who was on her side.

The other three were scrubbing the kitchen table when she arrived.

"I have more water." Her voice made everyone jump. The tension was thick, so thick. They wouldn't be able to cut it with a knife. Maybe a chainsaw.

It had taken a lot of convincing to let them get Night Shift together, but if the others were suspicious they hadn't let on.

_Breathe, Twelve. Breathe. _

Six, Ten and Fifteen eyed the cart with a sort of reverence as they made their way through the rooms- the ornate boudoir, the entrance hall—that they had been cleaning for five years, that, if they were lucky, the would never see again. And then there was the front door. Beautifully decorated, firmly closed.

Fifteen began to polish the knob. Heart thudding faster—_this is it, there's no turning back now, your dad is waiting, you're not scared—_she leaned forward, towards the cart. A whisper. "Going down the stairs might hurt a little. It's going to bump."

A soft snort was just audible under the rags. "Have no fear. Me an' Pain are BFFLs."

The urge to laugh at the fact that Eden Emmerson had said BFFL—even sarcastically— was quickly lost once Fifteen took out the tool the Olympians had given them and. Pressed the thin metal rod up against the door. His knuckle turned white as he pressed the button.

_Thunk. _

The lock disappeared, blown outside somewhere, lying on the steps. But there wasn't time to wait to see if Lars had heard—Fifteen and Ten pushed the doors open as quietly as they could.

Twelve clenched her fingers around the cart.

Fifteen turned and smiled at her—that enthusiastic smile that he hadn't lost in five years as a slave— and ran down the steps into the night. Twelve followed, cart jolting and thumping and bouncing and not being quiet at all as the cleaning supplies rolled every which way.

And there was her father, beckoning them over a few feet away, a small battery powered tool in hand. They wouldn't' be able to go far without it.

Twelve pushed the cart over then offered her ankle, jumping as the vibration shocked her leg. The metal cuff broke off in miniscule fragments, shooting little bits off into the garden. The boy—Peter?—was doing the same for Fif, and Twelve could just barely see Dawn's shadow pulling Willow from the bucket. It was too dark to see her expression, too dark to see the extent of Willow's injuries.

_We're here, we're here, we're getting away… _

"Come on, come on…" Greg muttered. "Ha!" The cuff split, two half shells lying on the grass.

"The second it gets colder it's going to scre—"

There was another crash of falling cans as Eden rolled off the cart and onto the dirt.

"Dawn—"

"Can you walk?" Dawn, already supporting Willow with one arm, knelt next to her. "Eden?' desperation was clear in her voice.

Twelve checked the windows. They'd made more than enough noise to wake Lord Lars and Dr. Kunhyi up by now. Well, maybe not the Doctor because he was a heavy sleeper—

_Ohmygodohmygod._ Fifteen grabbed Twelve's hand as Greg started cutting his anklet, as though to make sure she wasn't going to go off without him. As though she could.

_**! **_

What was left of Twelve's cuff began screaming, a high pitched shrieking sound that would also have set off a flashing light in Lars's room.

"_Run!" _Peter slammed down on the saw, scraping Ten's ankle as he forced the metal off of it. A second longer and Fif too was free, and they were running—

Was Twelve dragging Fif or was it the other way around? Did it matter? No more thoughts of tunnels in the hedge, no thoughts of the original plan. It was just running, and terror, pure terror…

They both fell behind a bush, landing with their arms and legs tangled, on top of—

"Ow!" How had Peter gotten there ahead of them? (_Obvious, Twelve. He's a far more fit hero who has been training for his whole ruddy life.) _

"Sorry."

It took a second to realize that Eden was crouching behind him. A little demoralizing to be slower than a Hunter with a dislocated knee. And Twelve looked for the others, but they weren't there—weren't standing in the garden, either.

"Where are—"

"Down!"

Feet pounding through the house had come out on the stairs. Lars in his night clothes, sword in hand. Staring out at his screaming garden. His eyes fell to the cuffs, the half-cuffs, and the snarl made Twelve's bones go cold. "Property can't run away," he said, walking forward slowly. "You're not getting far."

"I'm going to kill you," Eden breathed, good hand clenching a stick as though it were a sword. "Gods, I wish I could shoot—'

"Well," Peter whispered back, though his voice was hardly audible over the screaming siren, "you could always get a bow, loop it around his head, and yank at such an angle that it cuts his throat."

Eden didn't smile, and he sighed.

"Can't you just—"

"No."

"But you did it at—"

"I can't anymore."

Lars studied the abandoned cuffs, but if he could tell anything in the dark, she didn't know. She had the feeling that being awoken at two in the morning was slowing down his reflexes.

How long would they be stuck here, waiting? This wasn't part of the plan. The plan had just been to run, to run once the cuffs were off, so why had instinct driven them all into hiding?

Because it had taken longer than they thought it would? Because they were all running on some sort of high, knowing they were this close to achieving their goal?

"I know you're out there," Lars yelled a little louder. "You're scared of me, aren't ya. I know…"

There was a promise of blood in his voice.

"Whadya mean gone?' Peter whispered. Twelve wanted to ask him to be quiet, but she didn't they'd appreciate a slave telling them what to do.

"I mean gone. If it was there I would have been able to stop him from—" Eden froze as Lars charged a bush. "_No._"

Dawn dove out from behind it as his sword cut through nothing. Willow crawled after her.

Lars stared at the smaller Hunter for a moment, and his shout of range could probably be heard in Yakima and Pierce County as he put two and two together. Realized that his slaves weren't just running away—they'd turned on him.

":Peter," Eden hissed. "Give me your sword."

"You can't even stand! If anyone behind this bush is doing the fighting it's me."

_No. _Where was her father, where were Six and Ten? If they died—this was the worst idea she'd ever had even though she hadn't been the one that had actually had it. She should have stayed in her nice safe bed, should have just let herself be ruled by the crazy person. Should have let Eden Emmerson die, and maybe she would have from an inside point of view been able to collect valuable information for the Olympians. Instead she was here, she was here, and—

And her father rose behind Lars like a shadow, throwing him back—Lord Lars flailed—

And more figures shot from behind the bush. Running, running to where the others were. Dawn and Willow and Six flung themselves down next to them, shaking. There were tears in Six's eyes? It was hard to tell. Fifteen's breathing was ragged in Twelve's ear, as Lars pressed a button on his wrist. Within seconds, the chopping of a helicopter could he heard overhead.

_Dad, kill him! _

(Had she just wished Lord Lars dead?)

(Did that make her a bad person?)

(What was she—)

The helicopter droned, and Greg bolted, leaving Lord Lars lying on the ground. Running towards them, and Peter resumed hacking a hole in the hedge.

But—"Where's Ten?" Twelve whispered, voice hardly working. Heart beating faster than she could think.

Lars was stumbling towards them as well, and Peter began sawing faster, Dawn unable to shoot as she tried to keep Willow from falling—

They had seconds-

And Ten's eyes reflected the light as she crouched behind the bush, the one that Lars was standing next to, looking around…

"We have to help her," Twelve said desperately. Everyone's eyes went to Eden, as though by habit, something so ingrained in their psyche that they'd never do differently like she had been the mastermind behind the rescue and not the one that needed the help.

"We have to _go,_" the lieutenant said. "if we're going to make it back."

The hole was just small enough that someone would be able to climb through…

_He's going to catch Ten. He's going to torture her for information like he did the Olympians and when he realizes she doesn't have any he'll use her as an example—_

_Like Seven—_

"We can take him," Fifteen said. "There's more of us and he's hurt."

"Not the copters. We can't take the damn copters. We need to _go._"

"But—"

"Run," Eden was saying as Greg reached them. "Ready? On three—"

Ten. Ten who she'd known for years. Ten who had put up with everything. And Twelve was scared, so scared, and her heart was telling her one thing and her feet another as she turned to run…

"If it was Willow you'd go back." The words slipped out of her before she could stop them. Eden's leg gave way under her as she sat back down.

"Yes." It was a fact. No emotion in her voice. "but she's not, she's just a—"

And Ten screamed. Lars, dragging her out of the bush, and Ten was kicking and clawing at him but she was just a slave and he was a warrior and she had no chance.

"Ten!" And it was Six, Six who turned back. Six who ran towards her. Twelve looked at Eden, who was opening her mouth to protest, and she didn't know what made her do it but she was running after Six, and Fif was next to her as she half dragged him, half running, she didn't even know if she was still armed, where was her knife—

But it didn't matter because he came, of course he came, (later she could maybe tell herself that she had planned it to be that way, _made _Emmerson help them,) because he wasn't going to leave her, not now. And then the order came from behind: "Peter, cover him!" And everyone was charging, three unarmed slaves and two very deadly rebels. An arrow flew over Twelve's shoulder, missing her—and Lars, a few seconds later—by inches.

And Ten was pulling against Lord Lars, kicking him again, and Lars let go of her, raising his sword—

And it was Six who was running at him, and Twelve could hardly think through the terror as Ten scampered off—

Six's kitchen knife snapped at one blow from the sword, and she stumbled. Twelve didn't have time to realize what they had gotten into before Peter was there, another sword, and then her father—

And she had never seen him in battle before, and it was as though he were a stranger—

And Fifteen tugged at her, and she realized that her hands were locked around his fingers like iron, and it took a few tries before she let go. And then he was running to Six, and Twelve was following, and Six was rocking back and forth on the ground holding her shoulder and even in the dark they could see the blood dripping through her fingers—

"Adrienne! Guys! Move!"

Twelve pulled Six to her feet and then they were stumbling back as the first arrows fell, sticking almost comically out of the dirt. The chopper getting lower, and there were figures in it—

And Lars somehow, without armor, was pushing Peter back—

And Eden and Dawn were trying to get Willow through the hole when they returned, and Eden was turning around, yelling something, but Twelve couldn't' hear over the screaming in her head, the arrows—

_Arrows, _missing them sometimes by feet and sometimes by inches as Dawn sent a few back in desperation, but it just bounced off the side—

"Go through!" Eden snapped. And Twelve was not going to argue, not this time, as she followed Ten and Willow and she could only hope Fifteen was behind her and then they were on the other side of the hedge—

For the second time in a month for such a rare occurrence—

And then Fifteen's head appeared, and she found herself grabbing his shoulder, pulling him out and then Six and—

"Where's Greg and Pete—" Eden began, and there was a yell from behind and Twelve could just see another arrow disappear behind the hedge—

_Don't let it have hit them, don't—_

But Eden was kneeling by the hole again, and Dawn was grabbing her arm—"You can't even _walk—_" (and it was obvious that Dawn wasn't letting her sisters leave again—)

(And Twelve wished Eden would just do the zappy-thing and didn't know why she wasn't-)

But there was Peter's head, and then her father, and Dawn whistled, and the choppers shot towards them—

It took Twelve a moment to identify the shapes galloping down them. _Horses,_three of them, on what had been nicknamed Millionaire Drive, what with the Gates mansion a mile or so away, the place where you were more likely to see porches—

And Dawn was dragging Willow and Eden onto a horse, the later of whom was putting up a little more of a fight as she tried to turn—

Now _she's willing to stop—_

And Fifteen latched onto Twelve again as Peter passed them, as he swung up onto a white horse, and Greg on the last one.

Twelve shrieked as a rock caught her foot, and she went sprawling, scraping her knees on the pavement—she could just barely see Ten and Twelve climb up behind Peter—

And Fifteen's feet stayed put as he reached out to help her, but she was already getting to her feet, the terror in her mind too thick to dwell on the pain—

And two of the horses took off—

_Took off? _

But there they were, supported by massive wings, twisting to dodge the arrows, and a few more were coming—

Twelve sped up, though she had no idea where the energy was coming from—

And the horse was cantering towards them, her father reaching out to help them up, hand on his sword and another mass came and Greg grabbed her hand and her feet were off the ground—

And Fifteen screamed, falling, face first into the side of the horse, and Twelve reached out but two larger, more wrinkled hands were there first and he was screaming, _screaming, _and there were arrows, real live arrows sticking out of his leg, and her father was saying "Porkpie, go!"

_Porkpie? _

And they were flying.

There wasn't time, when they were running for their lives, when more and more helicopters were amassing above them, when a few _bullets, _(bullets, weren't those outlawed?) poking holes in the cement, to realize how strange the feeling was.

An arrow flew from the black horse, and Twelve could hear the breaking glass as it went through a window. Porkpie rocked back and forth as he flapped his massive wings, and they were going faster, but there was no way they were going to make it—

Because the whole military had been activated—

And Fifteen was holding his leg and screaming—

And arrows, so many arrows, were going towards them—

_This was the worst idea I ever had _was Twelve's only thought as she braced for the impact of—

Nerf darts?

A massive hawk, with a wingspan equal to the horse's, dove low overhead, massive talons extending. And as it reached the first copter, it crumbled into dust, the mortals falling, screaming as they hit the ground.

"Knew she'd show up sooner or later, with her Hunters in danger," Greg muttered. "I'd rather it had been sooner."

Twelve barely heard him as with someone else managing the danger she turned to Fifteen—

Fif—

"It' hurts," he groaned, sliding backwards a little. She had to hold onto both his arms to keep him from falling off as she turned to his leg, and her stomach clenched. Blood. Blood, blood and torn flesh—

"You'll be okay." It was the only thing she could manage. "You'll be okay, it'll be okay. Oh my god oh my god you'll be fine you'll—" (This was the moment where she was supposed to say something meaningful, something inspiring and dramatic but she couldn't manage anything besides _it's ok.) _

The city lights winked behind them, and the hawk again flew overhead, and more of the helicopters fell, and maybe Twelve was only imagining the cackles of delight—

"Where's Lord—" they probably wouldn't' appreciate the term— "Where's Kunhyi?" His last name tasted strange on her tongue.

"Not dead," Greg said bitterly.

The horse rocked again, and she held onto Fif tighter, as much to keep herself on as him. She'd never ridden a horse, especially not backwards, not with two other people, _especially_not a flying one. It was so weird, to be far above the ground without an airplane window.

Then again, her dad was sitting next to her. And they weren't dead.

If that could happen, she thought vaguely, why couldn't horses fly as well?

O-o

**Oh look! Blog post! The word was snow: . com. –shameless plug- **

**Also, I got my nano account back, thanks to the super helpful tech people. I love them. **

**Nien—**I hate you. See a PM for further details.

**Rider of the Winds—**it's not a story if _everyone _is dead.

**Emily—**is that good or bad?

**Hayley—**yeah… well, Lars hasn't figured it out yet, so luckily…

**HP- **Greg's super careful like that. I meant to add a reference earlier but I forgot. And yeah… ever had that feeling where your mind freezes up and all you can think of is a person and a face and that's when they were alive and so you can't understand how it's not like that now? And the "male genitalia" (you're allowed to say penis, you know) idea is a good one. Damn. I so should have thought of that first.

**Biblio—**well it sounds realistic-ish… and no, not more torture, at least for now. And there wasn't as much blood as I'd planned on mostly because I chickened out of doing something I was planning on. (See "why I hate Shrrgnien" for more details) .

**You Know Who—**soda water maker? :D and yeah, I got them back tho. I love the nano people. Yeah that was funny. "Morning." And that quote reminds me of Oedipus for some reason but tha's probably just 'cause I'm a nerd.

**Tony—**true, but she can make my life hell :D

**Ana—**actually, you will. : )


	36. Chapter 36

_"Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return."  
— __Leonardo da Vinci_

The trees broke the sky into fragments. Shards of sunlight looking down at her.

And around them, noise. Just noise.

Crying and gasping and choking and birds singing and wings beating and **noise. Noise** that hadn't been there in the quiet, the eternal quiet of her cell. Coming back—

It was all just **noise. **

Why did Peter step so **loud**? Why were Artemis's wingbeats so.. unsubtle? Was it that her hearing had just been enhanced in her time away or just that that everything had gotten louder?

She didn't know.

Didn't know, didn't care. All she cared about was that it was loud. **Loud.**

"Fif!" The voice, though, voices were quieter than she remembered.

"Put him down here."

"Is he going to—"

"Look out—"

And it was noise, and Eden closed her eyes. **Noisy noise noise noise noise.**

"Is he okay?"

"Ask Artemis-"

'Healers—"

"Horses tired—"

_Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. _Sh tried to tune out the **noise**, all the **noise. **

"Eden?"

But that was her name, and she should answer. She needed to answer. But it was so bright, bright, too. Sun and **bright **and **noise **and…

"Yeah?"

Dawn was staring down at her. Then her face spun and she was sitting next to her.

"Are you okay? Do you need Artmis to—"

"I'm fine." A reflex, but it was true. She didn't need them to see the extent of her injuries, didn't want them to know that she'd let it happen. "Willow an—" She stopped, watching Twelve kneel next to one of the other slaves. He was shaking and groaning about something.

And she should probably help them, because it was her fault that he was hurt. And Willow needed help too… Willow would need it as well… everyone needed help, everyone needed it but her. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the fluff, the fluff that was clogging her mind, keeping her from seeing through the **bright **or hearing through the **noise. **

"We've got to get him back to camp," Greg was saying. And Peter was telling him that the horses were exhausted and Artemis was kneeling next to Willow, now a human, her thin fingers spreading healing. Willow too stared at the sky. At the broken, **bright **sunlight. All the **bright **and **noise **was confusing and overwhelming and she didn't want to—

"Eden do you need help?" Artemis was now standing next to her. Her face, face that Eden had missed for so many years, and it felt like a small piece of Eden broke off, vanishing somewhere unknown in the **bright. **

"No."

"Your leg—"

"Is fine."

Artemis frowned. Mouth just tilting a little. "You can't walk on it. Let me—and your arm—"

Gi threw back his head, whinnying. Instantly everyone was on their feet, weapons out.

"What do you smell?" Peter asked. Out of the corner of her eye Eden saw Twelve crouch over Fifteen—as though trying to protect him. The Other Slave wasn't in her line of sight, and she did her best to keep it that way. (How did Twelve care? It made no sense. She didn't want to be breathing the same air as that girl.)

Gi shook his head a few times, mane ripping in the **bright**.

"Searches?" Peter's head snapped around, looking. Back and forth, back and forth—looking—waiting—

At long last, Eden's bow appeared in her hand. She ran the fingertips of her broken hand up and down the smooth wood. The bow had been her weapon. Her identity. With it, it was easier to remember who and what she was because she wasn't defenseless anymore. (Except for that little detail that she couldn't actually shoot it—)

She forced herself to stand. "I'll go look."

Everyone froze, eyes all turning to her. The **loud **falling silent for a second. But she was Eden Emmerson and now she had a mission—

"No you're not," Greg snapped. "You can't walk."

She stood, limping a few steps just to show him. (And it wasn't like it hurt any more than usual anyway, even though she was probably just doing more damage—)

"It's fine. I'll be back in a minute. I'm still probably quieter than Peter." Even when no one was speaking it was too **loud.**With their breathing and their wind.

"Not until you let me fix your arm."

No. She took a step back, pulling her sleeve a little farther over her hand, pulling her hand closer to her body. Artemis narrowed her eyes, took a step from Willow.

"Let me see your arm."

_No. _She hugged it tighter. But there was no point, because her fingers were weakening, her arm was sliding out into the open because of the god damned godly powers—

"_Stop_—" but there wasn't a point because she had no control over it. Her sleeve slid back a little, revealing the purple, swollen, misshapen mass that had once been a wrist, the red lines of various injuries, the green, the blue, the black—

"Holy crap." Peter's eyebrows lowered, and she flinched, trying to pull the sleeve back up. She wondered if her face was as red as it felt. She didn't like blushing. It was too—to degrading, too _human. _

"It doesn't hurt." Not so much a lie as an incomplete sentence. It didn't' hurt more than anything else. "Would you please let it _alone_?" It looked like Artemis had finished healing Willow but "—Fifteen needs real actual help."

As if to accentuate the point, he gasped in pain as Twelve and the _Other _slave tried to move him.

Eden's arm gave one last final twinge in pain. And then her hand twisted.

The _ow _settled on her tongue, and she had to clench her teeth to keep it from escaping as her wrist straightened out. As a thin layer of skin spread out over the old, leaving behind a few lumpy scars.

Nice to have that one limb stop hurting, anyway. Still.

"What happened there?" Peter asked, looking—was it possible?—a little grossed out.

"I decided to sit on it." She couldn't look at them, couldn't look at any of them, just went over and patted Gi's shoulder. "How're you doing?" She asked him, ignoring the **loud** that pounded in her head. "Did Dawn remember to feed you sugar cubes while I was gone?"

The horse flicked his ears towards a bemused looking Peter who informed her that no, he said he hadn't gotten any.

Eden still didn't look around. "Well that's rude. Doesn't everyone know it's the Second's job to take care of the lieutenant's horse while she is otherwise occupied?"

Dawn looked like she had been slapped in the face as the reality came crashing down. Because Rio was gone, Rio was gone and if Dawn was being handed this role it meant that Rio was never coming back.

Willow squeaked once, hiding her face in Dawn's shoulder. Eden stood by the horse, wanting to reach out to her, but afraid to move in case she would crumble into little pieces on the dirt ground.

"_Is _she dead?" Dawn asked unsteadily. "I mean—"

"I saw her."

It was a whisper, a whisper that screamed. Everyone turned to Fifteen, who was bent double over his leg. "Me and Twelve—"

"We saw them." Twelve's eyes darted from person to person. "You guys, I mean. We were told to bring you all in… Rio had black hair, right?"

Dark brown, really. But you could only tell if the sun was at just the right angle.

"You were the ones that were there when I was first brought in?" she should have recognized them. But she'd been busy doing other things. Like, trying to escape.

Twelve nodded.

"Can the horses keep going?" Greg was staring at the sky. "I don't want to wait here any longer than we have to."

Unsaid things hung in the air behind them.

O-o

It was still dark when he awoke, but before him was bright. Bright white walls and—

"Oh no."

If he wasn't much mistaking, he was in a hospital. And if he was in a hospital it meant someone had found him. And if someone had found him it meant that it was quite probable that—

His stomach was falling, falling through the floor. They couldn't have gotten away. They _couldn't _have. Someone must have caught them, because, oh Kronos, he couldn't have caught her and let her slip away—he should have killed her—she deserved to be dead—

"Hello." A dreaded man in white was entering the room holding a clip board. "You were coming around a bit on the helicopter so we had to knock you out again, sorry about that. You had some serious wounds."

Like he cared. He could just take pain meds. "Did they find them?" he demanded, sitting up. "_Did they find them?_"

The stupid man blinked. "You'll have to discuss with your aides about that, sir. I am not usually informed of such matters."

A slim, slim hope. He clung to it, clung to it as a barnacle clings to its rock, refusing to let go. Because it couldn't be true, it couldn't be.

He could see the punishments hanging before him. Demotion at best, death at worst. Why couldn't the rebels have just killed him then and there? Better to die in combat, to have your death remembered as tragic, then to face public humiliation… he clenched his fist.

He had to wait, shaking with anger, for at least ten minute before his father arrived. Looking more exhausted than Lars had ever seen him, despite him having slept through nearly the whole affair.

"Well?"

"There are helicopters, pegasi and officers all over everywhere with in fifty miles. They'll find them."

The Hunters

Had

Escaped.

He imagined that his anger was enough to set the building on fire. That it was enough to make them drop dead because of the force of his hate. Buildings collapsing, people dying. Emmerson first.

He was going to enjoy her screams of pain as she died.

O-o

So many eyes. Eyes, eyes everywhere. Eyes reflecting the **bright**, eyes blinking, eyes staring at her as she hoisted herself over the three branches and into base. Mouths enhancing the **loud **as they moved, forming jumble, mindless jumble. Getting louder as the others climbed down from the tree. **Loud** coming towards the injured slave and carrying him away.

Too.

Fucking.

**Loud. **

A few words came through, words like _hospital _and _Willow _and _Eden?_ and _injured _and _alive. _But she didn't, didn't want to be here with the **loud**ness of it all. She just turned, away from the masses, towards the small cement bunker that was home. (Should have stayed with Willow but she had to leave.)

The heavy door fell shut behind her. And then, at last, it was quiet. The Hunters' beds empty. Stone walls protecting her from the **bright.** (The fact that it was kind of screwed up that she felt most at home in a cell-like place crossed her mind, but she ignored it.) Just retreated to the small bathroom.

She needed a fucking shower.

O-o

"My alarm went off when the slaves broke free," he explained. "I believe the rebels must have bought them off for they've never tried something like this before. I instantly jumped out of bed and donned my sword, only expecting to have to deal with a few runaway slaves. Instead I met Gregory Gladstrup in the garden."

"How do you think he got in?" One reporter asked. Lars scowled, straightening up some in an attempt to look as on the road to recovery as possible.

"The god Hermes is on their side," he explained. "As god of thieves, he is a master of getting into places. We believed he helped them. And then, I realized what we were dealing with and called for backup. They must have used tricks to get the Hunters out of their cells—it's a good thing that the other prisoners were no longer there. I radioed for backup, and there is always some close by me, but by the time they were able to help I was fighting against Johnson, Galdstrup, three Hunters, and four slaves. I was lucky to hold them off as long as I did, but they managed to escape. Normally I could fight them all easily, but I also had no armor on."

Pens moved across paper as they tried to get it all down. What a gripping story this would make, Lars thought grimly.

"And then?" Asked another.

"And then as they escaped I made one last bid to stop them and I believe that Galdstrup knocked me on my unprotected head. I suppose he meant to kill me but failed. We have many people out searching for them and I _feel certain _that they won't get too far." He put a slight emphasis on the last few words, glaring out at the camera. A glare he hoped would strike fear into the hearts of many.

Yes, he was going to enjoy killing Emmerson very much.

O-o

Wrapping a thin towel around her shoulders, grime finally, finally gone, Eden lay back down on her bunk, staring at the bottom of the one that had been Rio's. How many times had she lain here, listening to the creak as Rio rolled over? The occasional snore?

Now it was quiet. Because Rio wasn't ever going to go to sleep again.

There never would be time to really mourn for her. Not with the war and the battles. Not with the shortages and the pressure of life to which she would again have to adjust. Not until the gods were again in a position of power would they have that luxury.

Her back burned against the raw cotton. She assumed that it was bleeding again—it was hard to tell, when the blood went down their easily clogged drain, what was new and what wasn't. She should get a bandage or something to stop it but she didn't want to move. Time bent oddly, minutes turning to minutes to she didn't know how long.

But there were things to do. The first of which would be proving that she was still herself, that she was fully capable of doing whatever the hell she wanted and she was not a traumatized little victim (because she _wasn't._ It wasn't like she had ever been injured before and that's all it was. a few broken limbs and some blood.)

Gathering her willpower, she sat up slowly, leaving the towel on the bed as she reached for her second shirt. Pulled it on, made a mental note to go get band-aids or something for her back. The bruising on her other leg grumbled as she covered it with jeans, then she turned back to go wash the towel, preparing to go back out into the **bright. **

And then she stopped breathing.

She had gotten blood on it, presumably from her back. That wasn't the issue. Blood was washable. No, it was the shape. She lightly traced it with her finger. It looked like a triangle, but was probably suppose to be some sort of shield. Yes, there was the weirdly distorted, blotchy—

Her hand went to her back, eyes narrowing. Blood wouldn't get in that pattern by itself.

Had Twelve known? Had Twelve known and not told her?

She stared again at the outline of the Kunhyi family crest and shook her head slowly. Trying to contain the rage, the hate. The disgust.

She was going to enjoy killing Lars very much.

O-o

**Anonymous- **yeah. The thing is, the gods and Titans don't care too much about mortals. Look at how long Luke had the Princess Andromeda before the gods cared?

**Nymph**—wow. Skills. You've probably picked u on more of my plot holes than I'm aware of :D and her grandmother is Nemesis, yeah. And Nemesis is a really minor god, they're not that powerful, and so monsters didn't really care too much. So they didn't know for awhile. Greg only found out when they hauled his wife and daughter away. And I was this close to killing Fif. Like, I'd planned for months that he was going to die. Alas. : )

**Haha I know Who: **actually I hadn't already written it. This chapter was actually a huge pain in the ass. Oh well. Hermes is chilling at camp. Rescue missions are beneath him. And that'll be sad. A relief too tho.

**Hp—**I was such a mature seventh grader, yeah. XD genitalia is an awesome word.

**Lovetoread—**yup.

**Hidden Firecracker—**Thanks : ) really? Fif's already been injured. It's the others that you should owrry about. Haha.

**Emily—**wait no longer XP

**Tony—**I will. Except I'm never going to be one, so.

**Biblio—**well they were running for their lives. Despite what happens in movies, running for your life is not the best place to have a reunion. I'll probably add that next chapter.

**O t h e r s I d e o f s p a c e b a r – **I don't add characters just to kill them. It's dumb. *sigh* why is everyone 12/15?

**Nien—**just… be quiet. Go sit in the hole and wear the cone of shame or something. I did not nee the emotional dilemma XDDD. Eden didn't almost say "she's just a slave." She almost said "she's just a whore." Artemis doesn't really give a shit about Ten. Remember Callisto? And yeah I do love you. doesn't mean you don't have to wear the cone of shame though. Congrats on winning the Verita award!


	37. Chapter 37

"_Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and even if they did, I wouldn't be one of them." _

_-The Sherlock BBC miniseries that you all really need to watch so that someone will get my references. _

Overwhelming. That was the only way she could describe it. All the stares, the eyes that went from her father to her face up to her forehead and back again. The slam of the door as Eden disappeared into one of the many cold grey bunkers. The tall trees, seemingly at odds with the urban world they had just left. The groups of people roaming around with swords, bows, like it was a movie set and they were just waiting for the big battle.

"Here, I'll give you the tour." She found herself steered away from the crowds, and within a few minutes even Six and Ten were gone. Off to yet another one of the buildings that she figured must be the hospital. And in the end it was just her and her father standing outside one of the cement blocks, surrounded by a fantasy world.

"That's the war room where the council members meet. We've got reps from a lot of the different bases, so we do a lot of strategy for the whole network. That's the hospital. Over there are the women's bunkers, and those over there are the men's. That small one is the Hunters'."

Easier, perhaps, to focus on the trivial. They had never been able to talk about the hard stuff. Not even before. It was her mother she would tell when something happened, and her dad usually found out from there, but they had never been able to have the difficult conversations. Speaking of which—

Did she even want to know the answer? Of course she did, she had to know. She had to know but for this one second she could savor the hope, she could imagine that it was all misinformation. Because if she accepted it then the world would explode.

"Is Mom…" (And she couldn't finish the sentence, she just couldn't, because if she finished it would mean knowing, knowing for sure.) And his arm tightened around her shoulders, and they just stood there for a moment. It took a moment to realize that she was crying. And then, slowly, just slowly—

"We didn't know. I suppose they threatened us but we never got the message. We didn't know an' then—"

That was enough.

But she could see the face so clearly in her mind. Her face. Her voice. Her need for fairness—justice—that had caused so many arguments. Her mother, in everything but the flesh because the flesh was gone gone gone and she was never going to come back, never going to hug her or buy M&Ms after they'd had a particularly vicious argument. Never going to nag her to move her cereal bowl off the table or call up her teachers when she thought they'd wronged Twelve because of her slight case of ADHD. She was gone, gone, gone, and there was nothing they could do and she should have been prepared for it but it still made her want to lie down, lie down and die and not get up because what was the point. She'd escaped from the Kunhyi to some form of hell in which her mother wasn't coming back.

Not coming back.

They stood there for a few minutes. Unable to speak through the memories. As Twelve watched, a group of teen and pre-teen girls marched past. Four of them, with a serious yet slightly comical air such that Twelve half expected them to start snapping their fingers, á la West Side Story. A second later she recognized the ones in the lead as Artemis and Dawn. As for the other two—one couldn't be older than ten and the other looked to be about sixteen.

"Hunters?" she asked quietly. Greg nodded, swallowing once. Twice. His Adams apple bobbed.

"Dawn and the Goddess Artemis. You know. And then the older one is Marisol and the younger is Lily."

Serious, in formation, but just then the younger one broke ranks with a shriek.

"Eden!"

And then she was running towards one of the cabins, the door to which had just opened. And then she and Eden collided, and Eden had lifted her off the ground and spun her around once, in a halfhearted circle.

-_Mom used to do that to me when she picked me up from school—_

And it must have hurt her back but she didn't show it if she did. And Lily went back to earth, still jumping and shrieking. And smiling. Looking so _happy _that it was hard to imagine her fighting in a war. (But according to everyone, she spent half her time doing just that.)

(And Twelve longed to feel that same joy, to have the people she was missing return just like that.)

(But she had Fif and Ten and Six and her father and they all came back with her and that should be enough.)

It seemed sort of sick in a way, the child in the war. But of course she wasn't really ten. She was- what? Fifty? Sixty?

Sighing, Twelve closed her eyes. _She's probably more skilled than most people here. _It was so hard, so hard to untangle the threads of love and hate and family and loyalty that made up a war.

O-o

They took refuge in the armory, the only place that had some semblance of peace and quiet—since most people kept their weapons at hand in case of attack, there weren't steady streams of people going in and out.

Still, there wasn't much to say. In a book, in a movie, it would be a sappy reunion. But her life had become so much stranger, so much more terrifying than movies, and the sappy reunion part—she wouldn't be able to get it out. Not between all the sorrow. Her, her mother. Five years. Her life a blank between the ages of fourteen and nineteen, just cleaning and sorting. Everything, nothing, and all the things in between.

Still, he was there.

"Don't you have to be somewhere?" She asked, lifting yet another sword.

"The balance isn't right," he said instantly. "And there's supposedly a council meeting but I'm skipping. They'll tell me if anything important happened."

Just being there.

She was going to have to learn to fight. Possibly to kill.

But her dad was there.

It was midway through this revelation—the closes to peace she'd had since those moments, all those years ago, with Fif and the chocolate— that loud voices could be heard outside. On the other side of the wall of shields.

"Oh how I love civil discourse," Greg muttered. Twelve could just barely discern Eden's voice, disguised in anger. And like magic they were both drawn to the door, opening it. watching.

"Well _maybe,_" said the male that looked to be about twenty five, "if you hadn't _lost _ you would have _known _about the danger to the New York base and _maybe _then we would be in a better place to defend it!"

"Oh, so it's all _my_ fault that you didn't know about it sooner." Eden's hands were on her hips. Eyebrows descended low over her eyes. "How hard is it to check—"

"You're not _supposed _to lose fights, fuck it!" he roared back. "Maybe if you and Rio hadn't decided to go after Willow then you'd _both _be here _and _we could _save the fucking base!_"

She almost looked like she was growing. Hate was visible in her eyes, and Twelve shank back, remembering what happened last time.

(Who was he? From their tone they'd had similar arguments before..)

And then he said something, said something that Twelve couldn't make out but made Eden lunge for him. Her hands locked around his neck as they fell, and she was kicking him, (and the spats of blood were appearing on her back again) and he was kicking back and within seconds it was over, and her knife was touching his throat.

"Say that again," she threatened. "I dare you."

His decision to stay silent was probably wise, and Eden stood, foot still gently pressed against his neck.

"You wouldn't have survived ten seconds," she said, voice low but just loud enough to carry. "The second he threatened to castrate you you'd be blubbering like a baby. You're too easy to beat, Adam. That's why you're the _spy_. If it weren't ruddy useful I'd have bashed your head in a long time ago. Artemis wouldn't hesitate a second, you know."

"I'm not _that _easy to defeat!" he protested, still unable to stand. "I'm unarmed, fuck you."

Her foot landed n his face. "So was I." A pause, and she turned to the gathering crowd. "Anyone else have a problem? No? Awesome. Greg, you want to ready Units Six through Eight to travel to New York. I'll ask Artemis if she can take us."

Greg took a step forward. "_Us?_"

"You think I'm going to miss all the fun?" But she was already turning, glancing back at Adam. "Try going to the hospital, maybe someone can heal your face so that you won't be squirting DNA when you send someone to find out if Kunhyi is sending aid to NY or if we're just up against the East Coast blues."

He was standing again glaring after her. Trying to retain some dignity while his nose was gushing blood. But his reply was lost, chocked off by a large wad of it.

Greg let the armory door fall gently shut.

Twelve stared at him. "Is she always this—"

"Angry?" He sighed, running one hand through his hair. "Oftentimes. But it's how she gets by. She doesn't take insult. Hunters value their pride too much. It gets ridiculous. And Adam doesn't like having a fourteen year old outrank him."

"Fifteen." Twelve jumped as the door opened and Emmerson entered. "I'm fifteen."

She looked different. Back in her element, her home, a lot of the grime wiped away. Straight hair once again pulled back, standing upright instead of chained to one wall. New scars cutting across her face, like the artist painting it missed a brush stroke. A long slant through her forehead, descending into her eyebrows. Another making the trek from her ear to her jaw.

Twelve's father frowned. "You said you were fourteen."

"Yeah, well. Now I'm fifteen. We might also want Unit One of artillery to try and launch an—"

But he wasn't having that conversation. "You're acting like an eleven year old. Beating up everyone that annoys you isn't going to work."

Twelve took a step back, afraid that Eden would attack her father too. But she didn't. She just shrugged, anger was still palpable. Not decreased by all the deadly weapons within reach.

"He had it coming."

"Nonetheless."

A shot pause. "I'm not going to let him think that. And I'm not going to let him get all—I don't care if I have to terrorize him into listening to me, I will if I have to. It's only common sense that has kept me from killing him so far." Cringe, but she looked smaller than she had earlier. "I'm not fifteen, or fourteen. Or twenty six. And he needs to get over himself. I should have broken his nose years ago."

Greg shook his head slowly, glancing at Twelve once. "Hate is a fatal flaw."

She had opened her mouth, but closed it again. Expression slightly dangerous.

"No." Pause. "No, it's not. Love is worth dying for but hate is worth living for." Another pause. "Now if you bring Artillery One up over the Hudson we can probably keep them away for a short while. Meeting again in two hours. Nice to see you again, Twelve. If anyone gives you shit tell me and I can make them shut up. Have either of you see Will anywhere?" All of this was said quickly, conversation topics overlapping, as though she was trying not to think about anything Greg had just said.

"She was in the hospital last time I checked." He tossed Twelve a sword. "Try that one. And do you think we'll need the cannons?"

O-o

Women's Bunker Three (or WB3—Dubbie Three—for short) Floor Two was home to some of the strangest people Twelve had ever met, sans Fif. From the thirteen year old girl who repeatedly threatened to beat everyone up to the forty year old who acted perfectly sweet to everyone until there was a battle ax in her hand to the daughter of Hermes who seemed to have more winter socks than everyone else, it only seemed more clear that Twelve was somewhat of an alien species.

At least she wasn't the only new person. Ten was on her floor, and Six the one below, and one woman had only just snuck in from Renton. Still. She had the feeling that this was not a crowd that you wanted to anger.

Eden had made that clear enough.

All of a sudden, a head popped up next to her. Hair hanging upside down as the face stared from the top bunk. Then it was gone, and two feet were swinging forward. And then the resident of the upper bun k was standing next to her.

Black eyes, black t-shirt, black hair, black skin. Twelve half expected her to say she was a spy, but no, her job was something along the lines of sneaking into tight spaces to set off explosives.

Her name, it transpired, was Alida.

"So you were one of the slaves?" she asked, so friendly that Twelve went on her guard. In the last few years, no one had been that openly happy unless you were the one who was being put on Lars Care duty.

"Yeah." She pretended to straighten her pillow—if you could call it that—just for something to do.

"So are you in the sword class?"

"Starting soon. It's really too bad we can't clean the Titans to death." She'd be so much better at that.

Alida laughed, a laugh that seemed out of place with the low bunk beds and cold, impersonal walls. (And Twelve refused to let her thoughts stray to One and the others, the ones that they left behind when they fled and what their fate might have been.)

(Because she had made a choice, and it was to rejoin her family.)

(Surely that was the right thing to do.)

(And even though, even though she knew that it was pathetic, her stomach still knotted up when she remembered her father's concern for Eden.)

(And even though she knew in her mind that it wasn't true, she couldn't shake off the worry that, in her time away, she had been replaced.)

**O-o**

**Short, I know. I had more planned but I stayed up till 4am on Friday and I'm still recovering. So next chapter'll probably be Twelve as well. Not as interesting **

**Wisegrl—**don't threaten me :P

**Pjatoslover—**I sent you the review reply via PM. I'm not giving anything away here XP

**The nameless one—**well it's not a lie so much as an untruth

**The other nameless one—**I did

**Tony—**you too. Did you have a good break?

**Owl—**what parts are confusing? I should clear those up.

**Lovetoread—**like five or six chapters ago.

**Nymph—**I doubt you'll read this message, so yeah. *sigh* *hugs*

**AnIdiot—**updated :D and thanks. It was just a random thought but one that seemed to work.

**Hp—**Eden and Lars are really similar. But is a desire for revenge really equal to insanity? Ooh, philosophy.

**Biblioholic—**Who says they're not gonna die?

**DC—**to be honest, I don't get that tired of seeing it… I do run out of creative ways to reply though.

**Emily**—3000 words

**Rider—**yeah… it's odd. I have a lot of description in my short stories, but this not so much. It doesn't seem like a very descriptioney story. But the if you read stuff on my blog or nonFF it's totally different. I have Multi Style Disorder.

**Moonrise—**I'm not sure. I've been too busy to think about it.

**Luna—**that's his job :D

**I KNOW WHO—**I love the Book Thief. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love it. XD

**Shrrg—**Artemis didn't let her run around injured, hence the forced healing. And I suppose you can take off the cone now. –sigh-

**And if any of you have seen the show quoted at the top, you get ten points. If you really want to see it, you get five points. If you don't read my A/Ns and quotes you get -3 points but you'll never know it ^_^ **


	38. Chapter 38

"_It's better to burn out than to fade away." _

_-Kurt Cobain/Neil Young/Alexander the Great (?) _

White light, ugly ceiling. He should pay someone to put in a new ceiling in this fucking hospital. How on earth could they in good conscience leave it like that, those white tiles with—were those little _holes,_ staring down at him as though to say "You aren't good enough for a _real _ceiling." This was the type they put in schools, in drab old office buildings with grey-painted fronts.

And he, Lars Kunyhi, deserved better.

He shouldn't have to pay someone at all. They should do it of their own accord because they should realize how fucking _stupid _it was. How completely—

This rant was interrupted by his Doctor's arrival. Lars opened his mouth, planning to inform him both that the ceiling was ugly and that he wanted to go home today. The two collided in his mind, and he ended up saying something like "Take the fucking ceiling home."

Dr. Payne (_Dr. Payne. _The worst fucking name for a doctor ever,) opened his mouth, looking surprised. "I… come again?"

"I said," Lars snarled, teeth gritted, ashamed of his failure, "I want to fucking go home."

He had some sob stories to tell, some reporters to censor, some rebels to catch and a Hunter to torture. Because _Titans, _no one was ever going to make a fool of him. With a goddess on their side, they couldn't really blame him—

Payne nodded. "You'll be able to go home in the next couple days but until you don't' need any more painkillers and you gain a little more mobility in your leg I'd rather not leave you without a doctor."

And because the worthless man probably thought that would make him venerable to another attack. But Lars Kunhyi was not, and would never be, venerable.

"My _father _is a doctor, and seems to be one of greater intelligence then you." He tried to put every ounce of contempt in his voice every could, because this man was _beneath _him.

Fucking dammit.

Dr. Payne reached for the IV stand and began entering some numbers. "I'm going to reduce your level of meds."

"Did you not hear anything I just said?"

"Your father won't be home for a day or so, and when he is he won't be up to caring for you. In light of recent events his doctors tried to reschedule but they told me earlier that they had been unable to do so because of the—"

"Did they hurt him?" Lars jumped, sitting upright. "They took him out too earlier? In his sleep? He was never in the—"

But Payne was now looking very confused. Confusion was not an expression he liked to see on the man adjusting his morphine doses.

"The Olymp—the rebels didn't hurt him."

"Who did, then?" If it wasn't rebels then it would be easy to find them, to hang them for something. Was it one of the slaves? He was going to have to make some serious changes in his slaves' lives when he returned home, and if one of them had caused his father some injury—

"You mean he didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

But no, he had seen his father just last night and he had been all right. And he hadn't returned home, had he? And it had been something planned in advance—

What the _fuck_ was going on here?

Payne velcroed something to his wrist. "I'm afraid I can't tell you, you'll have to ask him."

"The fuck you can."

He was just trying to push him, trying to see if he could get some reaction. But the Doctor was clearly too meek to tell him off.

_Finally. _

Because if the doctor was willing to let himself be bullied, Lars would likely be home in no time.

"No, I can't. We sign papers."

"I'm his son!"

"And it's his information. Now see here, tell me on a scale of one to ten how much—"

"The fuck with the pain scale. I'm ordering you as a prominent member of our government to tell me what is going on with my _father _or else you will have to face up to far worse consequences than violation of patient confidentiality seeing as you're not even really his actual practitioner. Now. Are you going to tell me, or no?"

Lars was half off his recliner at this point, glaring, all thoughts of the ceiling forgotten. He would make them change it later.

Dr. Payne looked trapped. Terrified. Lowered his voice just a little as though people out in the hall would hear him if he spoke at a normal tone, as if they would barge in and arrest them.

Worthless coward.

"He's having his prostate removed, sir. You're sure he never mentioned to you about—"

Lars sat back, very slowly, in his chair. "Say that again."

"They found cancerous cells in his prostate and they are having to remove parts of it."

What?

What the _fuck? _

"Are you just fucking with my head?"

Annoyed lines materialized on his face. "Of course not."

"Where is he?"

"In oncology I would assume. Or in surgery. I am not his doctor so I don't—"

"Take me to him."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Do it!"

He was met with a terrified stare. "I _can't, _not if he's in the middle of a surgery. He wouldn't be conscious anyway since last I heard it was scheduled to start early this morning but it could have changed, I am not informed of—"

"Well _find out._"

For the first time in nearly two years, someone who was not a rebel glared at him. "On a scale of one to ten, how much does your leg hurt?"

He yelled. He threatened. He glared. He warned. But the trembling man currently taking his temperature just repeated over and over that he didn't know, that he couldn't, that they'd send for someone when the operation was over.

When Worthless Payne left, Lars had to resort to making demands of the closed door.

O-o

"I told you at least three times,"

"You never."

"I did."

"You _never did._"

"I did. I even told you the night before all the shit exploded." (Lars had never, ever heard his father use the word shit before and knew it must be an event for him to say so now.) "You just never _listened _because you were all caught up in crushing the rebellions."

"I had Eden fucking Emmerson living within two hundred meters of me. But you didn't tell me because I would have remembered. I would have remembered."

"I told you _before _you caught them." And he was still lying in that hospital bed, only recently awakened, still slightly woozy. Pieces missing from his prostate.

Looking so tired and irritated and crippled and _old _that Lars had to turn away.

O-o

**Short. I really shouldn't have been writing this anyway, but I figured I owed the people that are still reading this because I'm not going to do any for the next couple weeks. I have finals, and then I have to edit another 250 pages of CG/RtW before ABNA. **

**Tony—**Cash is good. I did a helluvalot of babysitting over break. Lol. And I already answered that question and no it will not 'cause I wasn't a huge fan of HOO.

**CorruptionToday—**Um… thank you? I'm sorry? It's going to take as long as it takes to tell the story.

**Skadi—**tsk tsk. Kidding. And you've seen Sherlock? (*does victory dance*) another sane person in the world to hang out with me and that weird anonymous reviewer whose identity I finally realized (XD) They're doing three more episodes next fall. You can always look _forward _to 12/15, though whether it will happen is up in the air.

**Bibioholic—**It's from the TV show, and I don't know if it was in the movie or no. I don't think it was. you should watch the BBC miniseries, it's fantastic. (see response to Skadi.) *rolls eyes* I'm just going to randomly kill a main character and _not _make it dramatic. And… *counts on fingers* it started three years after PJO, it's been five since, so it's eight years. Had he lived Percy would be twenty-four. As to the fillers, see my note at the end.

**Wisegirl—**when did I threaten with Grover's reed pipes?

**I Know Who: **I'm getting tired of typing all your various names. Unless you have some strong objection, I'm gonna call you Ike for short. (Yes, I know you're a girl.) Because see, that would be Ykw, but the w looks stupid. So it would be why-kuh. But that sounds dumb, so it's Ike, because then it can be short for "I know who" as well. And actually it was in episode three right after they shot the old lady. Which line from LOTR is it? Oh, is that the quote they use to hate on suicide?

_**A note on filler chapters, because some people have seemed kind of unhappy about it. **_

I do not write filler chapters. I never just write to write, I never post a chapter only for the sake of posting. But I can't just cut the story short to the battle scenes, can't just only show the violence and death. Because what does all that fighting matter if you don't really know what drives the characters that are doing the killing and the dying?

That's why I say there's no such thing as a filler chapter. Because it's for the characters. It's so that you get to know the characters better. And yes, you might think that some of the next few chapters are filler, especially with the Artemis-Hermes dynamic. (No it's not a pairing. Before you even ask. You guys know me.) But that's kind of what has to happen because that's what wars can be like. Not all just action but the power struggle that it is and the people involved. And so yes, there will be chapters without "action" and no, I won't reduce it to dry character development and epiphanies, but _yes, _there won't be a fight in every other chapter.

People talk about how long this story is, and it's relatively long, though actually around average for YA stories. And at the beginning, I asked if you wanted it with subplots or without, and you said with. (And honestly, if you'd said without, I'd have done it anyway.) Because all the stuff in here, it does matter. People tend not to tell me if the length is good or not, but it is what it is.

And it's not just random fight on fight shit like the old one was, the one where you could skip ten chapters and not miss anything. At least, I hope not.

Because all this stuff does have a point. Please try to remember this before accusing me of writing a filler. I realized that I'd started to tell you that some of my chapters were just fillers because that way you wouldn't tell me. Lame, I know. I just get tired of hearing it. (By the way, this all goes along with my New Year's Resolution of not hating on my writing as much.)

Feel free to click the green button and tell me what an ass I just made of myself.


	39. Chapter 39

_"Every bird that flies has the thread of the infinite in its claw."  
— __Victor Hugo__ (__Les Misérables__)_

It was times like these—flying across the United States on horseback—that she missed Artemis's chariot. It was when she was leaning forward, trying to beat the helicopters, windburn making her face sting, that she allowed herself (just for a moment) to miss the comfortable seats, the way the wind and the cold didn't seem to affect the people inside it.

And despite the clouds that Artemis and Hermes had created around them, thirty pegasi and fifty people in flying sandals was not inconspicuous. Especially if it was not the only flying army taking to the skies that day.

They would know.

Then again, they should know already. Know they were coming, know that they would come, because the Titans were not going to take anything more. She wouldn't let them.

Eden shook her head, trying to clear it. Trying to not let her thoughts snag on every gust of wind. She had to stay present, she had to stay here. But it was hard to focus, focus on the people around her, on the landscape below, because her thoughts were back at camp.

With Willow.

"_I don't want to go." Willow's face was distorted with tears as she scooted away, crouching against the wall. "Don't make me go, Eden. Please?" _

_Eden sat down on Willow's bunk as well. "You don't think it'd make you feel better? To kill them?" _

_And she moaned softly, shaking her head. Hair falling forward until Eden couldn't see her face anymore. "Please. Please don't." _

_And this wasn't Willow, wasn't Willow but what could she do? Eden nodded. Wondered if she should leave Lily behind as well, to watch her, but they would need all the hands she could (and emotions could not, could not get in the way, this was war, this was war.) _

_But she had to lie, just the once. "It's okay." _

_Even though it wasn't. _

"She'll be alright," Dawn muttered. Eden turned halfway, spitting out a strand of hair as it flew into her mouth.

Yeah. She would be okay. Willow would be okay. She was at home. She was safe. It was everyone else flying off to kill people, after all. She forced her mouth into a smile, then turned again. Rubbed Gi's back.

Clouds passed, cityscapes below. As they passed over, faster, faster than she would have thought possible.

"Landing soon." Greg's disembodied voice made her jump, fiddle with the volume of her earpiece.

And then they were going _down—_towards the bright bright water and the waves of some river, sparkling and flashing and taunting them as they went _down—_down towards the cliffs on one side—

_Hoooooooooooly shit. _

Eden dug her fingers into Gi's back.

The cliffs.

The same. Fucking. Cliffs. The cliffs she could see at night, the cliffs that had never really left her.

_This _was where the New Jersey base was? Here? _Here? _The world was obviously trying to fuck with her mind. Because it couldn't be the same place. Riverside cliffs did not stay the same for a hundred and fifty years, because developers ate them up. She had assumed they were gone, had never put together the two locations in her mind.

"_Mamaaaa!" _

No. She wasn't fifteen anymore. But she could _see, _as she got closer to the water—she could see her mother, falling, falling, not on the back of a horse, but falling alone, her only company the snarling monsters dissolving around her—

_Breathe, Eden. Breathe. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore. _

The encampment was scattered across the top, just a few tents guarding the entrance to the tunnels below. And Eden could sense the fear (the fear that always clung to this place,) the battle preparations, mostly centered around one woman who looked like she was giving the orders.

And they were flying closer now, and people were moving back to let them arrive. And all the people got larger—

And the woman looked up. Eden's own eyes stared back at her. Eyes she hated (and it wasn't the first time that she wished her father had had the guts to let her look like him, but there wasn't enough hate for her to hate him too.)

But it had to be her imagination, memories left over from this place. She couldn't be here.

It would be too…

Perfect? Convenient? Ironic?

Awful?

"Is that…" Dawn raised one hand, blocking the sunlight. Gripped Eden's shoulder as she swayed a little. "That's not—"

Rage. Terror.

"_Mamaaaa!" _

Couldn't be.

But they were galloping now, galloping towards her, and—

"That would be her," Eden said, trying to remain calm.

They balanced on the grassy cliff edge, facing the wall of trees, and Eden took a deep breath.

Grey eyes studied the Seattles critically as they approached (and dammit, Eden had tried to set up her own home base as far from Jersey as possible so why was she here, why had she come…), as they drew closer until they were mere feet away.

"If Adam knew…" Eden said flatly, refusing to go any farther, "my knife is going to be the last thing he ever sees."

"Eden." Dawn grabbed her elbow, tried to pull her into a bow. But she wouldn't bow. Couldn't bow.

Not to her.

"Adam didn't know." And Greg stepped up behind them, dipped his head, and Eden stared at him.

"Well, someone should have known. That is, if you really are Athena and not just a flash in the pan."

"And you are?" Athena's voice wasn't as hard, as cruel as Eden expected it to be. Not a low, evil laugh of a villain.

"Eden Emmerson. Care to give us mortals an expl—"

"Shut up," Dawn whispered. Begged. "Eden, shut up."

(Because she had gone from being worried about Willow to just angry, angry angry angry and she didn't want her here, goddess of wisdom or no, she should be rotting in a flaming pit of hell—)

Decades of collecting things she would say to her. Decades of anger. She did not want to shut up. She was not going to let herself be walked on. Not by Lars, not by Adam, and bloody well not by Athena.

"Escape took too long," the goddess said smoothly, "and required a fair bit of planning. New Jersey was where I came out, maybe three days ago." Pause. "And your second is right. Respect is a healthy thing to learn."

"You don't deserve my respect."

And she knew, she knew she could have been reduced to a pile of ashes, but that was when Artemis quite literally materialized next to her, as though sensing danger.

Small feet landed in the grass.

"Sister," she said, smiling warmly at the other Olympian. Athena beamed.

"Artemis, so nice to see you looking well. We were concerned. Will you take your Hunters around the south side of the cliff face? The Titan Lord has done something to their machines and I am unable to transfigure them."

"I could have told you that," Artemis said under her breath, looking less pleased. But, then, without a beat. "Of course. Eden, come."

Might be wise, but she wasn't going to do what A-fucking-thena told her, even as she joined the rest of the Hunt. Gathered between two massive trees, almost like it was a few years ago and they were just setting up camp.

Except that there were only four of them. Four Hunters, and Artemis, and they were surrounded by men in armor.

"There's Andrus," Eden said, stopping as the general approached them. "I need more information on the situation here." Glanced around, looking for—"Lily, with me. Dawn, Marisol, continue."

Dawn frowned, but Eden added in a lower voice, "Lily can kick their asses and I want them to know it. They'll respect her more if I bring her with me." And it took a moment to remember that she now had someone to answer to (because a five year habit of giving orders was harder to break than it should be.) "M'Lady?"

"Oh, go ahead." Artemis continued on, and Lily and Eden approached the command tent.

"Andrus," the man standing outside introduced himself, offering a hand for her to shake.

"I'm Eden." (And she wasn't going to let anyone on their side call her Emmerson, not anymore, because she could still hear the name, said in Lars's voice—)

"I know."

She shook his hand, flinching as a part of her sleeve slid back, revealing some of the scars on her arm. Blotchy, ugly, shameful, and she quickly pulled the sleeve back up. "This is Lily."

He looked a little taken aback, had to bend over to offer her a hand as well.

(And Eden's back did not hurt at all. Not in the slightest.)

"So we have most of our stuff in the tunnels, and are spreading some explosives in the cliff face so that if worst comes to worst we can take them all out as well. We also found our spy."

The spy that had given away this base location. Eden nodded, pleased. One less thing to worry about.

"Who was it?"

"Long. Erin Long."

An innocent enough name. "Where is she?"

Hesitation. Cold wind blowing the straps of his armor. Eden glanced out again, at the ground that disappeared, disappeared into nothing, into thin air, with a river below…

"_Mamaaa!_"

"We don't like spies here, Emm—Eden."

Oh.

"Before you killed her did you find out what she knew?" Lily asked politely.

He nodded, eyes brightened. "Many interesting things. I can brief you on them directly if you like."

The sun was hanging right in the middle of the sky. According to reports, they would be here soon. Though reports always had a margin of error, they might be sooner.

They had a fight to fight. They had a fight to _win. _

"Best wait till after. I assume many of your people know it." And there was no time to wonder if she herself would be around. A smile and a nod was all that was required of her. At least for now.

Why that goddess, why these cliffs? Eden sighed, retracing Artemis's steps, headed down the lines of soldiers, soldiers lined up to fight for this area. To fight for the weapons and the supplies they hadn't had time to evacuate. To fight for the lives of the sick and wounded down below them. To fight for time, time to regroup,

But it was hard to get anywhere, because everyone she passed seemed intent on talking to her. Express amazement that she was still alive, something she might have taken offence to if there wasn't real hope in their voices. Hope for their missing loved ones. Hope for the end. Hope. Hope, plain and simple. Hope, so dangerous, but so beautiful at the same time.

"Wow," one boy—he couldn't have been older than eighteen—muttered, when he insisted on shaking her hand (and she didn't have the heart to refuse, because that would be rude, and because he was lining up to die.) "God powers are amazing. Wasn't that hand like totally busted?"

And she couldn't help but pull back the sleeve a little, revealing the blotches, the lumps that Artemis either couldn't or wouldn't remove. To remind him, remind him that their world wasn't perfect.

"Yeah."

O-o

Twenty minutes. That was all the time they had before the whisper shot through the masses, the sitting ducks in the woods.

_They're here. _

Airplanes, helicopters, and the first explosion rocked the cliff.

And Eden, kneeling on a broad tree branch, bow out, couldn't help but feel a strange sort of joy, because she was back, back in the fight, (and she was going to kill them all…)

The faces, the faces were what stuck with her. Blurring together. A couple hundred rebels in worn armor, lining up on the edge of a cliff. Shields raised in the hopes of blinding the oncoming army, an army that wouldn't be put off for long.

An army whose helicopters were dropping monsters amongst them, causing the yelling and shouting as the fighting began.

And Eden took a moment, a moment for Thalia and Zoe who she couldn't save, and Willow, who she still could. For Dawn and Lily and Marisol, who she would not let die. Greg, and even Peter.

And then, as a pack of hellhounds raced towards them, she let go.

Thoughts. Gone. Just the need, the need to fight, the need to kill, to protect her own. And arrows, arrows were coming from her bow, turning monsters (and people, real people, falling down and not getting up) into dust.

And Athena's voice came through, barking out orders, orders people obeyed without question, and it looked like sometimes she was actually taking over their bodies—like they were pawns in her chess game—as she fought off the helicopters she could not magic away. And it was chaos, warriors swarming, fighting, yelling, dying.

(And Eden's bow was singing, singing, five arrows to take out a hellhound, six for a dracaena, _ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping._)

Nothing. Nothing but the sounds of the battle.

It took a second to realize that her tree was falling. Took a moment to realize that the world was tipping on end, that the sky was spinning, that she was heading towards the ground. And she didn't even realize when she jumped off, when she caught the branches on the other side, when her knees bent as she hit earth.

Didn't realize until she was in the middle of the fight, and she drew her sword, and it was the clang of steel, knives, screaming. People, monsters charging her, and her sword flying back at them.

The sounds of death.

And nothing more.

O-o

It was only the small fragments that made an impact on her. Moments, seconds gone by…

…Dawn, ducking around a tree, shooting a Dracena in the eye as the monster's knife had gone for Marisol's throat…

…and the dying scream of a mortal man when her sword found a home in his stomach….

And monsters… so many monsters, targeting her, coming towards her…

…taking to the air with a cry if _Maia, _grateful, for the moment, that Hermes had been able to make the shoes faster…

…weaving in and out of the arrows that came towards her…

…landing…

…killing…

…the teenage boy who had asked about her hand, fallen against a tree, covered in blood…

…Lily, taking down two hellhounds near the entrance of the tunnels…

…_and her mother, sword in each hand, trying her best to ward off the oncoming stampede, the light of genius in her eyes, the whispered plan, the plan that had taken monsters out as it was supposed to, but also taken her with it… _

"_Mamaaaaaaaaaa!" _

O-o

"They're pushing back towards the tunnel," Greg yelled, lowering his face so she could hear him better. Andrus was standing next to them, ordering a few of his people as they tried to get in a better defensive position.

It wasn't working out well.

Not since the Titans had sent a few genetically enhanced quasi-mortals into the mix. Titan half-bloods with far too many powers, who had grown up far too quickly.

Like the ones that Athena was dealing with now, standing in a swirl of flashing lights and steel.

Like the one that Eden could see approaching out of the corner of her eye.

Her bow was loaded and fired before she'd realized it, but the girl didn't seem to notice, ducking around it like it was a dodge ball.

"Greg—" It was the only warning she could get out before the sword swung towards her and she was forced to block it, forced to turn away.

_Clang. Clang. _And then a shock, an electric shock, running down her sword, making her jump back. Nearly drop it.

_Before I could have blasted you into bits,_ she thought, her only thought as she pushed back, back with a hundred and fifty years of training (and she would not lose to a mutant, genetically enhanced freak.) But that was before. Before that ability disappeared. Before, before.

"Supposed to kill you," the girl muttered, jumping forward. Sword barely missing Eden's stomach (and no, her back did not hurt _at all,_) and then herself having to avoid Eden's knife. "Before it was just to get you alive."

"Interesting." There wasn't time for talk, not when they were fighting. Sometimes, people could pull it off. Sounding perfectly civilized as they tried to decapitate each other.

Eden couldn't.

"We don't need _you_ alive."

And then her sword was under this girl, this mystery girl's arm (she couldn't have been older than thirteen) and Greg had taken the step towards her and his sword went through her armpit (and if she had been normal she would have just been reaching puberty and having friends but Eden didn't know, didn't care what this crazy girl did) because now she was falling, falling to the ground. Eyes empty.

Hands crackling with unused energy.

"Come on," Andrus muttered. "There's probably more of those kid. We need to get into the tunnel and regroup."

She looked back over her shoulder exactly once before she descended. At that land, short strip of land, that broke off too soon.

"_Mamaaa!_"

**O-o**

**Holy crap, it's an update. And, in case you were wondering, more crap from Storm's life you probably don't care about: **

**I finally finished editing RtW/CG on Thursday, putting in three hours a day at the end to get done. And then the next day I realized all my plot holes in a blinding epiphany and now I have to go back and rework that. **

**Also, I tried nonfiction. I don't think it worked that well. I'm bad at writing about myself. http(colon)(slash)(slash) writing-ish. blogspot. com / 2011/01/ waiting-ish (dot)html. **

**Anyway. Sorry for the long wait. **

**Nymph—**the button is blue? No, I think the button is green. *pause*. It _is, _isn't it? The thing is, subplots are what makes the plot, in the end. And… sigh. 12/15. You _know _I'm bad at romance!

**Ike—**well, good. Ike it is then. And yes, exactly. That's what I think on fillers, anyway. And yeah, it'll end, but not _that _soon. Sigh. Not as soon as I might like. That quote is pretty boss. I read the first chapter! It looks… I don't know. I'm not sure if I should read it or no.

**Teapot Flower Newb: **I… okay. Reed pipes?

**Tonycat—**I love Lars. He's the most fun to write.

**Lark—**well… yeah. Sorry if the swearing bothers you, but in this situation, with these people… they'd swear. That's how life goes. (And I am not the most pure-mouthed person you will ever meet either.) And I'm glad you like reading it : )

**Lovetoread—**Thanks

**Nien—**my blood pressure hit the roof and went out again years ago, don't' worry about it. And now a long time is up. Yay.

_Just in case anyone is wondering, a "flash in the pan" is basically a fake—it comes from the gold rush-ish times when people would be looking for shiny things and be like "OMG it's gold!" and then realize that it wasn't, it was just a flash in the pan. _

**Also, because I was bored, I entered this snow photo contest and this is the part where I spam you to go to the link and click the fb "like" button on the page. https(colon)(slash slash) contest. thesca. org / snow / weather-confusion/ **


	40. Chapter 40

"_Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?"_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien_

Like nothing had changed. Standing here, eyes glued to the television screen. Looking to see that he was still alive. The only thing missing was the mop in her hand and the fear of discovery.

Perhaps it was for support that a jumbotron was hanging by the food hall, there for everyone to watch, to listen to the NBC commentary until it was just a hum in the background, the words no longer coherent over the blood pounding in her ears.

Screaming, cheering, shaking people surrounded her on all sides. That was another difference.

Everyone waiting.

"Emmerson has been spotted," the reporter said as though it were some form of game. _The quarterback passes to the linebacker. _And there Eden was, in the middle of a swarm, clearly holding her own, but—

_Where's Dad? _

"This part's the worst," Alida whispered, as though she had somehow read Twelve's mind. "The waiting."

Maybe. It wasn't that she wanted to be fighting, wanted to kill, wanted to die. But she wanted to be with them. "When will they send us out too?"

"Me? When they need a bigger body count. You? When you can hold a sword." She smiled, showing it was a joke, but Twelve still felt her face turn red. Three weeks here and she still couldn't hold the damn thing straight, much less swing it, no matter how hard she tried.

"No, don't worry. It takes getting used to. Most people have just been waving swords since they were five is all."

"Yeah, you can't help being clumsy, _'Cause you were born this way, baby._" Fifteen held both hands out in front of him, wiggled his butt a little.

"_Fif._" But Twelve had to cover her face with her hands to conceal her smile. Smiling wasn't right. Not here, not now.

And _there! _There he was, standing next to a tunnel entrance with Eden and someone who was apparently called John Andrus. A body of a—Jesus, she looked young—girl was sprawled out next to them. (And Twelve couldn't help but notice the blood on her father's knife and Eden's sword, couldn't help but wonder—) and then they were climbing down.

To where it was safer?

Or where it was more dangerous?

A time beeped, barely audible over the noise. But it made Fifteen jump. "Shit, that'd be the food."

And he limped off, back towards the kitchen.

Alida laughed a little, watching him go. "Sure he's not gay?"

Twelve narrowed her eyes, tearing them again away from the TV. "_What?_"

She got an eye-roll in response.

"_No, _he's not gay." It wasn't like she had any information to back up the argument, but it didn't really matter. Because she was distracted at that moment by the sight of Eden and Greg, charging through a tunnel. Lit only by the robocam that followed them, one they didn't seem to have time to deal with.

When Eden stopped, it was sudden. A stop, head darting side to side, and a yell that sounded something like _duck. _

The arrows flying over their heads cracked the camera lens.

"_New, stronger cameras looking to get a better glimpse of what's happening,_" said the woman in the box in the bottom corner of the screen. But by the time they had sent down another new, stronger camera to replace the broken one, Eden and Greg were running again. Seemingly unhurt.

_He's safe. He _is _safe, right? _

"Eden?"

Someone lightly touched Twelve's shoulder, but it took a moment to find the perpetrator, overshadowed as she was by the masses.

"Hi, Willow," she said. Couldn't help but feel a little awkward, through the fear. Because she hadn't seen the younger Hunter since they'd both arrived back at came…

"Eden?" Willow asked again. "Dawn? Mari? Lily?"

"Eden and Greg were alive a second ago, they're probably fine. I… I haven't seen the others."

There was so much guilt and worry in Willow's eyes that Twelve stomach hurt, and she wondered if it would have been better to lie. Because that was what everyone here was doing, right? Lying to themselves? Telling themselves it would be okay when it really wouldn't? That their friends were alive, that their families were alive, that soon they would be fighting with them?

"I can't see," Willow muttered. But instead of pushing forward, she retreated to the Hunters' cabin and shut the door.

And Twelve returned to waiting.

O-o

"Well," said Greg tiredly, "we did what we needed to do."

Twelve handed him another bandage, hands shaking a little as she helped him press it up against on arm. Blood. Her father was covered in blood. His own? Someone else's? How many had he killed? How many had deserved it?

"Held them out long enough," he muttered.

"You didn't expect to fully win, right?" Because they had spent so long watching and worrying, worrying that they'd all be killed, fear, fear everywhere, and she hoped against hope that that hadn't all been for nothing…

"No. Not now that they knew where the tunnels were. We just wanted to get everyone, everything out."

"You did that?"

What was the body count? What was the cost? What was the ratio of lives saved verses lives lost? Did she even want to know?

And it was her father, her father fighting this war. The man who had raised her, who had found band-aids when she scratched herself and thought she needed one, the one who had had to be talked out of calling TJ Müler's dad after he once terrorized Twelve on the playground. Fighting a fucking war.

"Yeah. We did. It's okay. We're okay."

Except for the bodies.

And she realized for the first time why no one had cared about Odysseus's men. Why, when they all died, everyone forgot them, celebrated when the hero himself returned. Because if you've been so desperate, ready to give up hope, and the one you care about returns, who gives a shit about the rest?

She wasn't cut out for this. Not really.

And there was another question she had to ask. A question that wasn't relevant, not really, but had been sticking with her ever since the incident a few days ago—when she and Ten had been near the bathrooms and they'd run into Marisol—

Because she'd let t lie, with the impending fight, but. But she couldn't, because the Hunters were home again, alive.

"Hey Dad?"

He glanced up. "Hmm?"

Question, burning her tongue, but it was so hard to ask. "Why…" (and she knew the answer, but need a rational explanation,) "why won't any of—Eden and Willow, even though Ten—she saved them, she helped save them both, but they still can't look her in the eye. Still won't talk to her."

Greg sighed, lowered the Tylenol. Leaned up against the wall of the council room, the only place left with some peace in quiet.

The only place a Fearless Leader could be seen with injuries.

"Adrienne."

Her name.

Pause.

The same look she'd gotten when she'd asked why it was so bad that Rick wore dresses. God, seven, eight years ago now?

"Because of… Ten."

"But they look at _me,_" she said. And she knew it wasn't the slavery that made them hate her. But was at the look of alarm on her father's face that she realized how that sounded.

"He didn't—"

"_No. _God." Don't let him think that, don't let him ever think that. Why couldn't _she_ think? Why were all her thoughts freezing up?

Fractured comments. Fractured sentences. That was the closest they could ever get to the hard stuff.

He started again. "You met Eden. You saw her in… in _there._" Pause again. "Did she ever cry?"

"Not that I saw."

"Yeah. 'Cause Eden… most of the Hunters, really. They don't show weakness. They feel it. If you look hard enough you can see Eden cutting herself to pieces as she tries to live up to what she thinks she should be, you can see her beating herself up as she feels that she should have been able to do something for Rio, for everyone. But they don't… they don't _lose. _It's just… not in their nature. They've spent decades being the best. Being infallible warriors." Here he stopped again, ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up even more. "And in those decades… no one's really sure why Artemis decided never to marry, to be a virgin forever, but over time that just became part of her identity. And the Hunters, they've spent decades reinforcing that idea, that belief. It's who _they _are too, now. Combine that with not losing… if a Hunter were in Ten's position—it just wouldn't happen. They'd either kill him, or, if they actually were going to lose the fight, they'd kill themselves first. Before, you know. And if by some miracle they couldn't do that, if it actually happened, they'd kill themselves right after. Within minutes."

She'd known, known in bits and pieces. But it still. And it was the first real explanation he'd given her since they got here. So different from before, when she asked about math problems and he'd spent twenty minutes telling her everything she might ever need to know, causing arguments because all she wanted was the quick way to an answer.

"That's sort of twisted."

"A bit, yeah."

She crossed her arms, sat down in a chair. Closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of the blood, wondering if she could just shut out the world. "So they think that Ten's weak, for still being alive?"

She could hear him moving around the bandages. "No. Maybe. They just.. they feel that that's how everyone should react. So in their minds, I don't know if it's a conscious thought, but it's at least a feeling, is that Ten must have been willing to some extent. That Ten must have slept with Kunhyi because she wanted to. And normally it wouldn't be an issue. But Kunhyi is the enemy. He killed their sisters."

And it was so even more twisted, really. Because they seemed nice, decent enough. And yet.

Willow. Willow, with the innocent looking face, brown eyes, pain. So childlike. Yet even she couldn't—

(And her father, her own father, had clearly spent a lot of time figuring them out, a lot of time with them. _If you look hard enough you can see Eden cutting herself to pieces_. He had looked. And she shouldn't be, wouldn't be jealous. They'd worked together for years. Of course they knew each other.)

(But he was _her _dad, goddammit, and she'd just found him again.)

But she couldn't help the resentment. Towards them. Towards everything.

So as the weeks passed, two, three weeks. Time, turning to everything, melting into nothing. As she got just a little better holding a sword, as she got to know a few more people in the Dubbie. Time, endless time. Time dedicated to the fight.

Time spent trying to avoid the Hunters, for Ten—sorry, _Katrina's _sake as well as her own. Because she didn't know. Didn't know if she'd be able to control herself.

Not when a remark was desperate to come out. Not now, now that she no longer lived in fear of Lord Lars, as she was becoming less and less afraid of speaking her mind. Because she never used to shut up.

"Hey Twelve." Peter nodded to her, and for some unknown reason she felt her face turn bright red.

Well, maybe the reason was known. Maybe the reason that she was trying, very unsuccessfully, to decapitate a dummy. And looking like an idiot.

"Hi," she said, glad for an excuse to lower the hunk of obnoxious metal. How were these things so heavy?

The awkwardness of knowing each other but not that well. Having fought just enough together that they should acknowledge the other but didn't know what to say.

"How's it going?"

"Pretty good."

A total lie, but whatever.

"Hey, Twelve!" Someone came running towards her, and she turned. Somewhat glad of an excuse, though wondering why it was right this second that everyone felt the need to greet her.

"Oh, hi, Si—Sarah." It was the other slaves that had switched back to their real names. Becoming new people. Sarah, Katrina. But she knew, she knew she would never be able to think of them as anything different than who they were.

"Sarah." Peter nodded, adjusting his sword.

The sun was bright. That was what had made the main impression of that moment. The sun was so bright. And someone had been about to say something else, but that was when she heard a door bang open.

Nothing like going from being alone to being in a group of three—now four in just a few seconds. It was Dawn who appeared before them, out of breath.

Shaking.

"Peter… Twelve… have either of you seen Eden?"

Peter shook his head. "Not in a few hours, no. Have you asked Greg?"

"I'm going to." And gods, she was shaking, shaking so much, desperation clear in her voice. And Twelve couldn't help the fear, just a little, because anything that made Dawn freak out couldn't be good. Wasn't it nice and sunny just a few second ago?

"Not yet, I will, I will. If you see her tell her—"

"Tell me what?"

People melting out of nothing. Eden Emmerson walking calmly out from behind the armory, approaching the dummy-line.

Speaking of the devil.

Dawn just stared at her, words seeming gone.

Eden frowned. "Tell me _what, _Dawn?"

The other Hunter opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Shaking so hard that Twelve half expected her to collapse.

Eyes pleading for something, but Twelve didn't know what.

Dawn didn't seem capable of anything but nodding towards the Hunters' bunker, the low cement building thirty meters away.

And somehow she'd gotten her message through, though Twelve had no idea how. Because Eden looked—Twelve didn't know what. But then the lieutenant had darted forward, shoving people out of her way as she ran.

And even if she wasn't happy with her, even if Twelve wished, (just a little,) that Eden Emmerson wasn't around, she couldn't help the horror that grew in her as she automatically followed Peter in pursuit. Weaving around the sparring groups and wandering packs, Dawn pulling ahead of them.

Only to have the door of the cabin fall shut in their faces.

The three of them stood, staring at it. Finally Peter turned.

"Do either of you…"

"Not a clue," Six—_Sarah—_said softly. But the worry was clear as well. Because—

"Eden never freaks out like that," Twelve muttered. Not even in the pits of hell did she fully lose it.

Not like this.

It was less than a minute later that the door flew open and Eden came charging back out again. No sword, no nothing, just running, running, not towards the hospital or the council room but away, away from camp, away from everything.

Peter went after her. "Eden, what—"

"I'm going to kill him." Twelve could barely hear her words as she drew farther away.

And Peter reached out, reached towards her. "Not now, not on your own, what's—"

_**BANG.**_

His feet lifted out from under him, and he landed at Six's feet.

"I thought it was gone," he muttered, but now Eden was the one that was gone. Still shimmering a little, not even pausing to see if he was okay, just a cry of _Maia, _and she had taken to the skies. Going up, up, up, disappearing.

Swearing, Peter got to his feet. "She said it was _gone._"

But it was Eden who was gone. And cautiously, afraid of being blasted but unable to contain herself, Twelve crept towards the door Eden had left open.

Lily, her face buried in Marisol's side, shaking with hardly suppressed sobs. Dawn, standing rigid. Trembling. Marisol, eyes fixsed at some point above Willow's bunk, leaning against the wall like her legs were about to give out. Willow, lying curled up on her bed, facing the wall.

Dawn turned and looked at them, Twelve and Six, standing outside. Twelve cringed, waiting for an outburst, an onslaught of horror and anger at the intrusion, but it didn't come. No, it was just a nod, and a look that told them, quite plainly, to get out.

They did.

"Oh my God," Six muttered, leaning up against one wall. Staring at Twelve with huge eyes. "Oh my—"

"_What?_" Because maybe she was really dense, maybe she just didn't see it, but…

"What was it?" Peter was saying at the same time. And Six lowered her voice.

"Willow."

The image came back, again, of Willow lying on the bed, and Twelve had thought she was just asleep or sad but what if—

What if she wasn't.

No, not Willow. Willow, who had lived for decades. Willow, who had come out of Lord Lars's prisons intact.

Or almost intact.

Because if Six was right (and maybe, Twelve thought, maybe she had been mistaken,) then it had killed her anyway.

**O-o**

**ShadowTraveller: **I did say that Percy was dead. I think it was in chapter four. And Annabeth got blown up. Which is partially why Thalia did too. (Or did I only say that in the old verison? Oops.) Anyway. Unfortunately, there will be no returning from the dead. They're in Elysium partying. Why would they _want _to come back?

**Lovetoread: **Why thank you

**Ike: **Why? That's odd. I feel like Eden's a completely different person now. In the old version she was all nice to everyone and good and stuff and now she's really not… anyway. And maybe you should try backing things up? Yeah, ToF ooks like it could be good. The thing is, though… he's writing two books a year. That's not really enough time to make it good. Or maybe it's just that my tastes are changing, I dunno. I've never seen supernatural. I have, however, seen all season five of Angel. Does that count?

**Pjatoslover: **Well, I _did _tell you that I wouldn't update for a bit… :P And yeah, I have noticed. I just hit the back button. Don't do the surveys, they're probably scams.

**Larkgrace: **They are. Sometimes.

**Emily: **Yep. She did actually have one, even if it was a super long time ago and she's forgotten most of it.

**Tony: **I _did _warn you. I've been editing RtW. And maybe. The thing is, the Titans aren't all that different from gods, except that they don't really care for mortals. But neither did the gods. That explanation didn't make much sense did it, but it does in my head. Haha.

****Also: just for fun, I posted the first four chapters of Reaping the Whirlwind (formerly Cardboard Gods, it's going through an identity crisis) on Wattpad. So you should read it. Because you're awesome, that's why. http : / /wwwv. wattpad. Com / user / RunawayMarbles ****


	41. Chapter 41

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;  
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"  
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —  
Merely this, and nothing more._

_-Edgar Allen Poe _

Nights. Nights that were no longer dark. Nights, one of the things that the twentieth century had taken from her. Nights, mangled, lit up, until they were gone even from space.

Why did she even notice, why did she care? She was flying, flying back towards Seattle, and nothing mattered. Not anymore. Nothing but killing him. Flying towards Seattle even though she knew he lived on the East Side. Even though—

God. Who cared?

Who gave a fuck?

_Willow. _

She had seen, hadn't she? Had seen her destroying herself? But she'd assumed… assumed what? That Marisol was looking after her? That someone was always there? That it didn't need to be _her _because she was busy planning world domination?

Yes. That was what she had assumed.

That it was all just a phase.

While Eden had been out fighting—

_Not even fighting. You've been at camp for three weeks. Plotting your revenge. Going to meetings, Did you even think…? _

Six weeks since they'd gotten back. It should have…

_Willow. _

She urged the shoes faster, faster until she feared that their wings would give out. Faster and faster over the dark water.

_Even Artemis—_

No. No. No no. No no no. Nononononononononononono.

What was the last thing she'd said to her? That morning at breakfast, what had she said?

Why couldn't she remember?

Had she even seen her at breakfast?

_Willow. Willow, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Take it back, dammit, take it back! _

The world can change in a second. She knew that. She'd been in the armory, and she had been looking for arrowheads, and then she heard Dawn, and the world fell apart. And it had been stupid, stupid to think that any moment was safe, stupid to think any morning that you would go to bed that night. She _knew, _knew how quickly things could change.

But she hadn't thought it would be Willow.

She hadn't thought it would be like this.

_Don't be sad, _the note had said. Note in Willow's painfully neat handwriting. Note Eden was holding, holding in a fist so tight she didn't think she would ever be able to let go. _I'm going to see Thalia and Rio and Zoe soon. Think of it as early retirement. _

Because that was Willow. Jokes until the end.

_Willow. _

_My Willow. _

Willow, who had joined the Hunt during the depression. Found cowering under some stairs, half dead. Willow, who though just one biological year older than Lily seemed years and years past in maturity.

Willow, who had more or less kept her alive in that place.

Who Eden had tried to save.

Who _had _been safe.

But that place had killed her anyway.

_Thalia. Zoë. The others. _

All dead.

Forgotten?

Nothing?

_No. _

She landed on the waterfront, crossed under the viaduct. Picked a direction and walked. Walked walked walked. Willow.

Willow!

She could feel it, the tingling. She had thought it was gone. But how could it be, really? It was a part of her. Unlocked again by—was this grief? She couldn't put a name to her emotions. Not anymore.

No one seemed to notice her. Not now, not yet. As the light started to fade and she walked, walked. Perhaps she was unrecognizable in blue jeans and without her bow. Hair loose. (Was it that the rubber band had come out when she was flying? It was hard to remember.) Walking, walking, as though she had somewhere to go.

It wasn't until dark that she stopped in the alleyway.

It had been growing. An itching in her fingers, and she knew what she was doing before she had time to think it. Pressed one finger against the wall.

A line. Another line. Another and another.

Because they were not going to forget, they were never going to forget. She wouldn't let them.

Then running, down the street, stopping on the side of all the buildings. Names, names, because they had to know, they had to remember. White letters glowing in the dark. Fingers on fire.

**LYDIA. **

(Lydia who was great at healing, who loved music and always sang, just loud enough to be annoying but clearly so happy that no one had the heart to tell her to shut up. Who was the first to know when something was wrong.)

**PHOEBE. **

**(**Phoebe who could touch a track and know what it was and where they were going. Who could see broken branches the rest of them missed. Who always, always stood up for the smaller one no matter what because she didn't take shit from anybody.)

**ROBIN. **

(Running barefoot through the snow, giggling. Who ran away from the Demeter cabin because it was too small, walls building up around her, and she didn't want to be inside ever again.)

**LARK. **

(Bitter. Angry. Resentful. But who never gave in, who seemed to take as much pleasure in laughing at the monsters as she did in killing them.)

**ZOË. **

(Zoë. _I'm Zoë Nightshade. We won't let them hurt you. Come with us. You're safe. The monsters are all dead._)

**THALIA. **

(Thalia.)

**RIO. **

(Rio who… God. It was Rio. Strong willed, who always fought, who never learned to compromise.)

The last letters, the burning white letters covering the side of a convenience store.

**WILLOW. **

Willow. Name glowing, and it wouldn't stop, she wouldn't let it, if it took every ounce of energy in her body.

Willow.

And she had to get away from here. With the burning names, names only she would write, trailing her down the street. Someone would notice, and she was in danger. But it was only a few steps, until she was behind another building. Because that was when her legs gave out.

_Willow. Willow. Willow come back. Willow take it back. Why the fuck did you do that? _

She squeezed the note even tighter.

It wasn't real. None of this was real. They hadn't been in danger, no more than usual. She had woken up that morning and eaten half an English muffin and then gone to study maps with Greg because she was trying to figure out a way to—God, what had she been trying to do? She couldn't remember. It had been important, hadn't it?

Did she care anymore?

Because Willow had hated the world so much that she had swallowed one of those little pills. Had left it. On purpose.

Her breath shuddered, and she slowly slipped into a sitting position. Rested her forehead against her knee.

_Keep it together. Keep it together._

Because a highly wanted criminal was not to be found bawling her eyes out in an alley. 

There had been no time to mourn for Rio, no way to let that grief out. And now, now it was Willow. Both of them. Gone. Lifted up by a net, after that last second, that last second on the street corner when the world was held together, and then they were lifted and everything fell apart.

_Gone. _

She didn't even look up as the footsteps came closer. She didn't care. Didn't want to care. Or maybe it was that she knew that they weren't all that dangerous.

"Eden?"

And it was Lily who knelt next to her. Lily. Tiny, alive, breathing. Small hand on her elbow.

"It's dangerous here, Lil. You should go home."

"So should you."

Couldn't go back. Not now. Not ever.

"They're not taking you too. Gods, please don't make me order you, Lily." She had to be alone. She had to have the space. Because back at camp, she was supposed to be strong. Out on the street, she was supposed to be strong. Here, maybe, she could breathe.

It was out of the corner of her eye that she saw the other figure standing at the entrance to the alleyway, but it hadn't attacked. So she didn't give a fuck.

"You can't. Artemis told me to find you, and she outranks you. Please, Eden. Please, come back."

Lily. Lily, alive. And Eden reached out, touched her cheek. Wet. And so she pulled her closer, sitting there. In the dark.

Minutes passed. Minutes melted together. Minutes or hours, she didn't know. Just kept an eye on the few figures who would linger at one end of the alleyway. Trapped between a bar and a store selling Persian rugs.

"Why did she do it?" Lily pressed her face into Eden's shoulder. "Why?"

And Eden looked for an answer. "The fates wanted the string cut. They cut the string, but nothing could kill Willow." Nothing could have killed Willow, except herself.

"Do you really believe that?"

"No."

No. No. Willow had left them. Willow had looked at them, at their torn shreds of a world, at the pain that was building up inside her, that wouldn't let go, and she had decided to leave in the only way she could.

Lily squeaked. Loud, possibly too loud, but the figures didn't move, the waiting figures so far away and yet so close. Didn't attack. Just watched.

But Eden could fight. She had power. She could feel it, the wayward emotion forcing its way out. If it came to a fight, they would win.

"Promise you'll stay," Lily sniffled, fingers digging into Eden's elbow.

The lieutenant hugged her tighter. "You know I can't promise that." She knew. She would know.

"Promise, Eden. Promise you'll try your hardest to stay." Because it wasn't monsters that had killed her sister. And Eden could hear the unspoken message.

Promises were fragile, and Eden knew it. Because without even having to consider it, a dozen possibilities in which she might have to die surfaced.

But Lily was crying harder now, clinging on, as though Eden were about to swallow the pills herself.

"I promise."

"Then come back. Please, Eden."

"You need to go back. You found me. You followed orders. I need to—I need to kill him." On her own. Practically unarmed. But he needed to die, because each breath he took was unworthy, was a breath taken from someone who deserved it…

"You _promised._ You promised to try not to die." And Lily was dragging her back towards the entrance to the alleyway, and the figures were making more sense now.

Not monsters, or soldiers. Just mortals, cautiously watching the lieutenant Hunter have an emotional breakdown.

Fuck them all.

They stopped, facing each other. Eden and Lily, wanting to leave the alley, and five mortals, hesitating, not sure what to do, blocking the way out.

"'Scuse me," Eden said politely.

One person fled. The others held their ground. Unarmed mortals. Lily could take them down in a second, Eden in less.

Was it because of the grief that she didn't do it? The images of four families in tears?

She had to close her eyes for a second, making sure that she was not going to cry. Then, "Come on. Get out of the way."

Wide eyes. Terrified eyes. Eyes dreaming of the glory, of Lars's promise—of the riches.

"Money won't do you much good when you're paralyzed from the neck down."

Another one—a middle aged man—slipped away into the shadows. Leaving them with three. Three, that is, until another four seemed to appear from the dark. Eyes wide, staring in awe at the confrontation.

"Get the fuck out of the way," Lily said, straightening up. And Eden saw her chance.

"_Language, _Lily."

She got a hurt glare. "You swear all the time."

"I'm older than you."

A small, trivial debate. A low blow. But, she felt, maybe if they saw Lily as young, someone not to be killed…

Then maybe they could escape without blood.

"Thalia swore."

"Thalia had lieutenant swearing powers. Now _move, _fuck it!"

Wide eyes stared back at her, and she could almost see the dollar signs reflected. Caught. Too terrified to move. Pulled forward by this chance and back by fear until they just stayed in one place. In the dark.

Lily froze, hand half raised. Eyes turning away from the irritating mortals. "Eden?"

"Hmm?"

"Hear that?"

Helicopters. Yeah, she heard it. A scout, maybe? Someone looking…

(Helicopters like the ones that appeared, that dragged Willow _up, _and Rio followed, Rio, who didn't live five minutes after that moment when all that had been normal fell away.)

"Let's get out of here." Lily took exactly two steps forward .

Eden could sense the motion perhaps before it began—one man diving forwards, arms outstretched.

It was over within seconds. Her fist on his flesh. Lily's foot raised. And then the man, the weak mortal man, was lying on his back, Lily's foot on his neck, arrow pointed at his face.

"Can I kill him?"

Six other people around, but none of them moved. Frozen, mid-breath.

Another helicopter sounded, and Eden tried, tried to think. But she didn't want to think.

_Lily is alive. _

"Gimee his phone."

Lily pressed her foot harder against his neck. "Where's your phone?"

He strained a little, arms half lifting. "Pocket." It was a gasp.

And the Hunter grabbed it, tossed it over. And Eden stared at the small square. Peter had shown her how to use these things. You pressed the green button—wait—no—what the fuck. She shook it, hoping the right page would magically appear. .

It did not.

"Lily, how do you work one of these?" She knew what she wanted to do, she just couldn't bloody do it. Why the hell did the gods let them create this crap?

"No idea."

And Eden spun, thrusting the phone towards the nearest bystander.

"How do I get to the calls made page?"

The woman's eyes were wide, breath short. "I—" Shaking fingers pressed button, revealing the page.

Two minutes previous. A call to 22. EE. Hotline.

Fucking shit.

Because that meant the helicopters were coming _towards _them. Helicopters looking for them.

"Lily, get your ass out of here."

"No." And Lily's voice was trembling, just a little, but she was staying. She was staying.

_Lily is alive. _

"They know I'm here. They don't know you are. Now _go!_"

"Can I kill him?"

If that worthless excuse of a person caused Lily's death—_you mean if _you _did, shouting your location for everyone to hear, burning it into the walls for everyone to see—_

"Let him live. It'll be worse for him when they get here and we're gone. Just knock him out."

_Lily. _

Lily who, after pinching a few nerves and the man's face went slack, grabbed Eden's elbow. "You're coming back with me right?"

She had to kill him.

She had to kill him.

"I can't." Couldn't go back to where Willow had been, couldn't let her prey (like she was on the hunt again after a mindless animal) get farther away. He. Needed. To. _Die. _

The night. The night was so dark, despite all the lights. It was as if the air had turned heavier, covering her, and she wanted to crumple under it.

"Eden, they'll catch you. They'll bring you _back_."

No. No, they wouldn't. "I'm going to tear off all of Lars Kunhyi's limbs, one by one, and then I'm going to feed his still-alive flesh to the vultures if they can stand to eat such a creature. I'm going to grind up his skull into little—"

"_Eden!_"

Lily's face was barely visible. Small, low to the ground. Staring up at her, desperate. And the sound of the chopper, nearly on top of them.

"You promised!" Lily raised her voice, just a little. "Eden, you _promised!_ You can't make her back alive again. You can't bring her back." Tears, her tears. Tears that Eden wanted to wipe away, wanted to bury, put somewhere else so Lily wouldn't have to feel the pain. But she could do nothing but grip her shoulder and glare that the three remaining bystanders.

"I said _get the fuck out of here._"

They fled.

"You promised, Eden. You can't go die too."

She'd promised, but no one could keep that promise. No one. And already, she could see it coming back in so many ways to haunt her.

_You can't make her back alive again. _

_Willow. _

Lily tugged her elbow again. And Eden turned. Turned, and followed her into the air. Melting into the dark.

But she could feel it, feel the icy tingle. The need to do something, anything. And turning back, just a little, she sent a white light over the skyline. Illuminating everything for a full moment.

A warning.

O-o

**Sorry for the wait. This week has been hellish. **

**Victor Janus: **Your wish is my command. Within reason, of course.

**AHumanRobot: **….I'm sorry? Not sure what to say to that.

**Shadow: **I said that I'm pretty sure.

**You Know Who: **Who are your favorite characters? Should I promise to let at least one of them live? Or should I just taunt you? :P anyway. Yeah, you make a good point. (I hate when people sometimes understand my characters better than I do.) True, the YA section has changed, but we're also growing out of YA a bit. They're for 11 and 12 year olds, not 15 and 16 year olds, so that might be why I'm liking them less. Season five of Angel is beastly.

**Sunneshine: **That's fine, I don't expect you to write me 40 reviews : )

**Lovetoread: **Well… ouch.

**Nien: **Do you have to remind me about 12/15 every chapter? : P

**Larkgrace: ***huggle*

**Tony: **I'm trying, I'm trying. You wouldn't want an unedited chapter would you?


	42. Chapter 42

_"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever."  
— __Alfred Lord Tennyson_

Dear Thalia

I can't remember the last time I told you anything. Or stopped to. I can't even write this down on paper anymore. Because there's so many gods about. And they'd know.

So it's not that nothing has happened. It's everything. Hermes, Lady Artemis, and now Ares and Aphrodite are here. Lucky for everyone, Athena and Dionysus went with Jersey to Pennsylvania—Mr. D having showed up a few days later. And then Demeter and Persephone are in Kansas.

Either Kronos is weakening his hold on them, or something is stirring. They are strong enough to pull themselves, or at least, imprints of themselves, into our world and away from their prisons. Though shadows of them remain there, too. Because they're drawn to us. They're egotistical, the Gods. They're pulled towards the people that worship them. They split.

Meanwhile, we've got scouts in Brazil looking to liberate Hades. But things are coming to a head here. I can feel it. For they won't let us get away with this for long.

I can sense you rolling your eyes at me. Plot summary. I know. And—I don't know. Maybe if I focus on the successes of the last year I can forget the failures. Oklahoma's attempt to get a base in the panhandle. The sickness.

Or Willow.

Thirteen months, three days. The flowers died and came back, but she didn't. It's May, 2018, would have been Willow's 92nd birthday, and I hope she's with you now. Tell her I love her. Tell her I'm sorry, okay?

Maybe this is why I don't talk to you. I summarize and then I avoid.

But the living. They dwindle. I can't think, can't focus on it or I'll lose sight of what matters. I can't do this. You're Thalia. But you're dead.

There are always more dead.

You could have lived forever. Instead, you lived to be twenty one. Even by mortals' standards, that's nothing.

I can't do this.

I have yet to kill Kunhyi. But I will. Before the leaves fall he'll feel my sword in his gut, I swear.

No, I know it won't solve our problems. But it might make me feel better. Death is more than he deserves, anyway.

Dawn is looking for me.

**O-o**

**So this chapter has been written for wo weeks, but my life took the Crazy Train to Crazyland so I had no time to edit/post it. Yeah. **

**I also am contributing to a vlog. And no, I'm not going to be in them, but I like to think the video is a better representation of me anyway. **

http : / www. youtube. Com / user/ TheLunchInTheSky? feature=mhum #p/u/3/isbes_86Oj0

**Hp: **you know you're allowed to not "kiss my ass" whenever you want. I approve of such things. Glad you liked 40.

**Larkgrace: **Don't murder me! :S And I swear I didn't copy your story, if that's what you're implying. It's just a name. She's not even really a character. Just a mention.

**Lovetoread: **you know, if you told me what was confusing, I could fix it…

**AHumanRobot: **Yeah, Eden's kinda screwy.

**DCThunder: **This one wasn't really like the last one. Sorry about that. I like last chapter better…

**ShadowTraveller: **I don't know. Ten? Ish?

**Emily: **Maybe. Maybe not.

**Nien: **A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS WAS ALL IT WAS!

**Hayley: **Thanks much!

**You Know Who: **All death is or them is a trip to Elysium, so it's more like you're suffering more by being on earth when friends are dead. It's a little hard to work with. Yeah, I'm sad about Boarders. I was sad when Wes died. I liked him. Illyria was beastly. "I will make trophies of their spines."

**Also I was thinking of rewriting the Godly Guide since it is in dire need. Anyone want to help with such a project? **

_**Update: And you know what's depressing? I'm at 32 unique viewers and zero reviews for this chapter. And I hate review-whoring, but... no reviews is kind of sad. If you don't like a chapter, say why, don't say nothing. You get better from crit anyway. **_


	43. Chapter 43

_Loudspeaker: "The demons have escaped. Please run for your lives."  
Adam: "This could be trouble."  
Riley: "We'd better make a fort."  
Adam: "I'll get some pillows."_

_-"Restless", Buffy the Vampire Slayer. _

**And because I couldn't decide what quote to put: **

"_I wear the cheese. It does not wear me."  
-The Cheese Guy, "Restless," Buffy the Vampire Slayer._

They washed it. Oiled it. Spat on it. And _still _the bloody arm didn't move. Eden poked the toy robot again, but the electricity in her fingers just made it look like it was having a seizure.

Just then, Greg ran up behind her. "Eden," he said, so loudly she jumped.

"What?"

"We found out where the Titan army plans to attack."

"Oh, good." She hid the robot behind her back and stood. "Where?"

"Disney land."

O-o

"The first order of business is to take out the 'It's A Small World' robots," Eden said, "unless you wish to have killer headaches while fighting. Dawn, you're heading that mission."

Dawn saluted.

"Also, I want a unit of archers on the Dumbos. Think of them as fighter ships that only go in circles."

"Can we use the magic feathers?" Adam asked hopefully.

"You can use the magic feathers."

A cheer went up, and the second archers unit ran off.

After sending Greg to the Matterhorn, Eden ran off towards the teacup ride. Not because it was a good vantage point for war. No, if she was going to die here, she wanted to ride the teacups at least once.

But when she finally reached it, someone was already there.

"No!" Lars sniffled. "Don't blow up the teacups!"

Eden frowned. "I wasn't planning on it."

"Good! Because they're _mine!_"

"Where's the rest of your army?" She demanded, hoping to distract him.

"Killing your friends, probably." He reached for the controllers. And before she could stop him, he had pressed he 'start' button. The teacups started to spin.

"Well shit," Lars said. "How am I supposed to get in now?"

"Hahahaha, sucker." Eden took a flying leap into one of the saucers, landing perfectly on the seat. Just then, Lars stopped it.

She stood. "Hey!"

"What? I'm not playing operator so you can ride the teacup ride. _I want a turn!_"

They were silent for a few moments. "I can't kill you," Lars said, "because then there would be no one to run them for me."

"Ditto. These would probably be hard to get out of when they're moving."

They continued thinking.

"You know, maybe we should just cooperate," Lars said.

"What? But we're mortal enemies. I hate your guts. _And _you have a penis. I cannot in good conscience cooperate with anyone who has a penis. _And _we're at war here."

Screams were now audible from near the Dumbos, and Eden wondered how Adam was holding out.

"Let's just call off the war," Lars suggested. "Then _everyone _can ride the teacups!"

"How do you call off a war?"

"I think we just hold hands and sing Kumbaya."

"Do we _have _to hold hands?"

"It doesn't work right otherwise."

Sighing, Eden reached out and she and Lars held hands. Just then they realized that they didn't actually know the lyrics to Kumbaya. So they just decided to say "Kumbaya" over and over and over.

And over.

Finally, people realized what was going on and everyone else joined in, laying down their weapons after Eden told them that the people that stopped fighting got to go on the teacup ride first.

But before they could start the ride again, Kronos, looking down in anger, smote them all.

O-o

Eden opened one eye, glanced around the darkened cabin. The breathing around her seemed loud, so loud. And she should get up, go do things, but Zeus, she needed sleep. So she closed her eyes again.

A few more hours couldn't hurt.

O-o

Last night in his dream he had been flying. Soaring above the city. Untouchable. Invincible. Powerful.

But a few hours later, here he was, cowering. Head lowered.

"Lord Kronos—"

"I speak to you directly, because we have a problem." We. Was _we _better than you? He was Lord Lars Kunhyi, bringer of fear, and yet now he was crippled by it.

The marble floor stared up at him. Torturing him. Its patterns so wild, not patterns at all, just flakes, circling him, trapping him.

_Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. _He could breathe. He was alive. That was good.

"Problems are fixable, my Lord."

"Hopefully. You see, Lars, the gods are gaining enough support that their essences are pulled away from their prisons. Only Athena and Hermes… and Artemis are at full strength. However—"

No. No. Emmerson. Cavenough. They would not get away with it. They couldn't. But Lars bowed again.

"I will see to it, Lord."

He couldn't see the Titan Lord, but he could feel him, his presence, surrounding him, choking him. Strangling him with his words.

"Oh, you will. Draw out their army. Fight them on your terms, not theirs."

"It will be done." But they didn't know how powerful the Olympian army was, especially if actual Olympians were fighting. They didn't know, but Kronos wouldn't want to hear it. Because Lars was not afraid of mortals. Not now, not ever.

"Oh, I don't doubt that."

He could feel Kronos pressing against him from all sides, so hard to breathe. Then, ghostlike, a vague human figure appeared before him. Emerging, fading in, as though through fog no one could see. An outline. Shining, human outline that raised one hand. Thumb and forefinger pressed together. Then pulled apart, just a little.

Then, a message, delivered in a flat voice.

"The tumor if your father's brain just got a little larger."

Harder to breathe. Harder to think. "_What?" _

"You know what is at stake here, Lars Kunhyi. Do your job well. Rally the army. Gather. Defeat them. We of the Higher will come as the battle does. End it. I cannot have my aggravating children in the way of this new world."

O-o

When he awoke, he was not at the palace of Othrys, but in bed. Lights out. Sleeping woman next to him. It was too dark to see her face, and he couldn't remember… no, that didn't matter right now, did it? Not now. Though she had very nice breasts. Maybe—

Kronos. The dream came back in a wave, breaking over him. Twisted words. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this.

Calm. Okay. He had entire armies at his disposal. All the armies of the world, if he wanted them.

He was more powerful than them. They must know it. Because they hadn't attacked yet. They hadn't challenged him.

Much.

Because he was stronger.

And would always be.

He rolled out of bed, slipped down the darkened hallway. Down the shining banister to the room Emmerson had nearly destroyed a year ago. In that incident that Kronos had never been informed of— _Lords, is he actually going to kill me? Me and Dad? _

Silent, dark as shadows, his slaves slipped out of his way. Vanishing as he approached, like a mirage. All those new slaves. He wasn't sure if the others were treacherous, but it had seemed best to eliminate them just in case. Treachery was contagious. Toxic. There had been too many of them anyway, too many to feed. Perhaps he had gone overboard, six years ago. Buying up people.

It didn't matter now.

He had a mission. A mission slightly more urgent than he had originally thought. Because the battle was coming. He knew it. Emmerson probably knew as well. .

General Vix took an annoyingly long time to answer the phone.

O-o

**Happy April Fools' Day .**

**The first part of this chapter—the Disney Land sequence—was supposed to stand on its own, but then I didn't finish the rest of the chapter that the Lars bit was supposed to be in, so yeah. **

**The reason I haven't posted in forever… well. Confession time. I've spent every free second of my time watching Buffy for the last two weeks. I finally finished, though, so hopefully I'm back. **

**If you haven't seen Buffy, you shouldn't. Don't be put off by the crappiness of the first season. Starting on the second it's insanely awesome. **

_**Also, last week was the one year anniversary of this story. I've done 42 chapters in 52 weeks. That's not so awful, is it? **_

**Tony: **Thanks! Most people are getting annoyed with them… Yeah, I read Kane when it came out. It was alright.

**Victor: **Willow killed herself two chapters ago.

**ShadowTraveller: **Ten-ish _more. _Not total.

**EDTA: **It's not a filler. That there saved you about five chapters of narrative.

**Dreamcatcher: **This chapter probably disappointed too, then. Sorry about that.

**Lovetoread: **I'm glad.

**Larkgrace: **Well, I also realized that three of my characters have names from Buffy and I never realized (Willow, Dawn, and Adam) so… shrug.


	44. Chapter 44

_Rise up and take the power back  
it's time the fat cats had a heart attack  
You know that their time's coming to an end  
We have to unify and watch our flag ascend_

_-Muse, "Uprising" _

Maybe it was the danger involved that had driven here there. Or maybe it was that they hadn't thought there would be much. Scouting mission, that was all. Circle the army, get a sense of its size, maybe fly overhead, in the clouds, unseen. That had been the plan.

Or maybe she'd volunteered because Alida had.

Or maybe it was because she'd only been out, in action, once before. And if the end was coming (at least, that was the rumor) she wanted to have some form of experience.

Or maybe it was because she'd spent the last year in constant training and she wanted to test herself.

Or maybe it was because she was stupid.

Did it really matter? They ducked behind a coffee shop, loud blabber of the people inside turning into an endless stream of noise. Monster snarls and the gossip of the few remaining teenagers mingling into a river, an ocean, and they were supposed to pick out useful things from it.

"Holy Zeus there's a lot of them." Janet looked up and down the street, letting her cam take in the view. The constant light, making the sidewalks that unnatural yellow,

"We've got people too. Looks like the civilians are booking it, though. Let's see if we can case Occidental Park. You all got the overview as we came down right?"

Monsters, mortals, covering blocks of space as they camped out. In the miles and miles surrounding Seattle Center. Looking up at the Space Needle like it was Mecca.

Waiting for the orders.

Twelve had seen it, yeah.

Marisol loaded her bow, stuck her head out from behind the alleyway. "Okay. I don't think they've noticed—"

(Or maybe she was here because her father and Eden were always talking battle, always off in some other world, a world Twelve wanted to be a part of, which was ridiculous of course because she was twenty one and should be above these things.)

An arrow bounced off the bricks next to them.

"I take that back." Marisol pushed them into the shadows again, and they froze. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. "Circle around, take off from a less crowded spot."

They plunged deeper into the alleyway, Twelve still half looking back, wondering what had happened, what was the—

"_Fuck._" Janet's shield barely caught the spike headed towards them.

Marisol barely looked at it. "Minotaur. We have to—"

"Duck!" Alida dove to the ground as another volley flew over their heads, and something clicked, and it was real now. Really real, because there were things out there trying to kill them and she had to run and—no, she had to stay and fight— fight. Right. She drew her sword, swung it, diverting the arrow headed towards them.

(Just like in training, when they would throw golf balls at you and you had to cut them down, exactly the same and yet so different because—)

"Out of the alley. _Maia._"

Up, up they went. Then forwards, between the buildings, then on the ground again, trying to blend in, at least a little, despite the shouting behind them.

"Well, the plan was to be inconspicuous." Marisol dove behind a dumpster, knocking another arrow. "Guess that's out." But there wasn't real worry in her voice, not yet.

"On the up side, we got a great look at their army." Twelve pressed her palm against her shoulder, watching the blood slowly work its way through. Had one of the arrows hit her? She couldn't remember. But it was blood. Her blood. Lord. Blood, blood, everywhere and she should be used to it by now but—blood. Her blood. Her life.

"Everyone alive?" Marisol glanced around. "Good. Let's see if we can fly. Cover each other."

Pause.

An eternity. Maybe longer.

Then they were up.

Flying, flying so fast that her eyes filled with liquid. Flying, flying. And the ground blurred, but not fast enough, not fast enough.

"Twelve, left!"

And there were the arrows, coming at them, so fast, and she was trying to dodge but one hit her leg, the thick metal covering it and bounced off but it still felt like a punch, and she wanted to slow, to see if it was bleeding underneath but of course she couldn't because they had to fly. Had to fly.

Next to her, another blur, Janet, her panic palpable as she tried to deflect the onslaught, the arrows coming fast, like Seattle rain. And she barely gasped as the flying demon tore at her shoe. One minute, flying, the next lopsided, spinning towards earth like one of those helicopter leaves that Twelve had played with when she was so small. You tossed them in the air and they twirled. And that was all that mattered in that moment were the falling leaves and the laughing children.

Falling leaves. That was the image that lingered in her mind as Mariosl shot forward to help. As the arrows coming, and Janet vanished into the dark. Dark stabbed by the flames, so many flames coming from the—_holy fuck is that a real dragon? _ It was a flying something, anyway, a flying something with wings.

And Janet was gone.

So fast that Twelve couldn't register, because the dragon thing was coming towards them again.

"We need to get it off our trail!" Marisol sent arrows at its mouth, but what with all the fire, they were probably ashes before they reached it. Before they could do any real damage.

Oh, gods.

And she would make all the prayers she couldn't keep to the Lords that didn't care if she got out alive. But it wasn't just being alive that mattered anymore, was it?

Alinda, aiming for its back. And then she was there, clinging, stabbing it, over and over and over. Digging her hand into the back of its neck, tearing wildly at the skin, screaming something, and an arrow was going for Twelve's head and she ducked, spinning a little in the air.

His last burst of flame singed Twelve's eyebrows, and then it was crumbling. The yellow goo sticking everywhere.

"Alida, out!"

Marisol shot off, expertly returning fire at the archers, so many many archers, and there were more, and the three of them (four turned to three) were flying, flying, and then it was dark. Marisol led them down, under the bridge. Weaving in and out of the supports, just over the water. Roar of cars overhead. Then, to the East Side, and into the trees. Where they stood, frozen, as a light passed over.

"Janet," Alida muttered, eyes wide.

"I tried." Marisol sank, trembling. "We got a good look at the army, and…"

Twelve could see the dark blood pouring out between her fingers.

Everything had mostly gone quiet. The alarm that had been sounded fading out as they realized that the scouts had disappeared. But the adrenaline was there, still pounding through her, the last few minutes disjointed in her brain as she was unable to remember, fully, what had happened, how she had gotten out alive. And—and—

_Janet had fallen, fallen, swallowed up by the shadows and the bursts of light. _

"We have to get back. To camp." And it was Alida who pushed forward, the slave that followed.

The Hunter that stood still.

Twelve turned. "Marisol?"

Blood. Blood so dark in the faint light. But their eyes were all drawn down to where her hand was pressed up against her side, against a gaping hole in her armor. Melted hole. And Alida gently pulled her arm out of the way, but Twelve could hardly see the wound itself through the blood. All the blood.

Marisol stared at it for a moment. And there were so many things—bandages, ambrosia, and about ten first aid classes all came back at once, layering, random snippets of instruction lodging in Twelve's mind and she couldn't think clearly, couldn't sort out what would be useful.

"We have to get back to camp."

"It's okay," Marisol said, taking a few steps forward. "I'll be okay."

And Twelve's wounds were so much less severe, but she still wanted to roll over and sleep, (sleep in the blood? Curl up into a ball and sob?) but they ran. They ran and Marisol stumbled and Alida supported her, and monsters, monsters came out of nowhere and Twelve reacted though she didn't know how she'd raised the sword. Slash, stab, roll, hack. And then they were dust, falling to dust, and there was blood on the blades and Twelve's shoulder hurt more but they were at the tree, climbing over, and Marisol slipped.

But arms were there to catch her. Thin, bruised arms.

"Mari!"

And Lily looked up at them, eyes wide. Lay Marisol down and Twelve could see the injuries now in the fake lights, the way so much of her side was missing, burned, bloody, arrows, and how she had run so far, and Lily was yelling for Artemis, and Marisol was reaching up, just a little, and Twelve took a step towards her, wanting to help, wanting to do something, wanting to help because in the actual fight she hadn't helped when it would have mattered.

She didn't even know _when _it had happened. The dragon? Before? But she was also bloody, so bloody, and she didn't know when that had happened either. The cuts. The bruises. Blades, and fighting and maybe Eden was right. Maybe in a fight there really wasn't time for anything. Maybe you really did turn into nothing, just staying alive.

Was the fight all just survival instinct?

But it was grief on Lily's face, the Hunter face, and she was talking, whispering to Marisol and people gathered.

And Alida leaned against her, and Twelve reached out to grab her arm. Because Alida was alive. Even if Alida was slowly sitting down, taking Twelve with her.

But then, there she was, parting the people like Moses in the Red Sea. Approaching them, grey eyes burning. Calm, steady. Yet clearly so close to falling apart.

"Mari?"

And her voice as quiet, so quiet. And then Greg was there, too, and he was helping Twelve up, and Six—Sarah—was holding her hand, pulling her forwards, towards the hospital.

Breathe, Twelve. Breathe. Breathe.

"What about Marisol?"

And Alida, Alida was behind her, right? Had been behind her? Yes, there she was. "They'll help her." That was Alida's voice.

But Twelve hadn't seen much help so far, and what if—but no. Because there was a commotion behind them and people running back and forth and someone ordering Marisol towards the hospital and Eden's voice above the rest, but Twelve couldn't listen to it. And she was in the low stone building and Janet was dead and Marisol was dying.

And the army. The other army. Thousands of them, thousands of mortals and monsters and they couldn't have seen the whole thing. No, that had to be a fraction.

A fraction of an army they couldn't defeat.

O-o

**Drifting Petals: **Yeah, I'm not that awful. And 'course you can quote it.

**AHumanRobot: **Yeah, they're pretty annoying.

**MizLizzi: **I'm better with the darkness than the love happy joy, anyway. You think Lars is more insane than Eden? Interesting.

**M: **Mmhmm.

**Emily Darkbow: **I almost left it up with no explanation, but then I changed my mind…

**Larkgrace: **It's something like "Kumbaya my lord" or something like that. And of course Lars cares about his dad. Why does would he be so obsessive about what he thinks?

**You Know Who: **You think that Lars should die a pathetic death? He's hurt. And I don't know what my favorites are. I really like…. Most things with Spike, to be honest. Uhm, Once More with Feeling is amazing, I also like Lovers Walk and Potential ("Comfy? When did _you _find it comfy?" "…moving on.") Oh, and the one where they were all shut up in the house was also pretty great. ("How's that muscle cramp, Spike?")

**Dreamcatcher: **When you get down to it, Lars and Eden _are _little kids.

**Anonymous: **Why thank you

**EDTA: **I usually think summary, but same diff =) *salutes back*

**Shrrg: **Well of course you knew it was coming. I sent it to you early. Twenty mintues? Oh god, that must have been awful. O.o Six, Ten, Fif and Twelve all made it out. It's one and the others that are no more. Dawn's cool, I guess.

**Tony: **Buffy. Is amazing. I'm listening to Hush as I answer these reviews. *hugs Lars* I love him too. In a weird, twisted way of course.


	45. Chapter 45

"_I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's- There's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid... [she] will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why."_

_-Anya, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, "The Body."_

Marisol Marisol Marisol and her heart was slowing down and where was Artemis, where was help, because she couldn't pick her up, couldn't move her, it would hurt worse.

"'M fine," but she wasn't fine, she wasn't fine, because she was losing consciousness and Eden wouldn't let her, wouldn't let her, so why was her heart barely going?

"Come on. You're going to be fine. _Where the fuck is Artemis? Somebody move, idiots!_"

No time. No time for grief, not really. No time to fall apart like she wanted, sink against the wall, close her eyes, and never stand again.

She could feel it the second Marisol's heart stopped. Beatings slowing down, and she told her, she told her she wasn't allowed to die, not now, told her that it was her right as lieutenant to not let her do things. She told her she had to stay, but something stronger was pulling on her, dragging her backwards, and the heart stopped beating anyway.

But it shouldn't be like this. Marisol was tougher than that. Even with the hole in her side and the way she had fallen from the tree, she was stronger than that, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

So why wasn't she breathing?

* * *

The numbness was the worst. Not the sharp grief of Willow's death, of Rio's, but just the knowledge that Marisol was gone and it as all blank and unexpected, death was always unexpected, and Jesus, what had she been thinking, and how had this happened, and what, what, what what was going on.

Marisol.

They had never been close, not really. Something in their personalities had never meshed. Because Marisol had always been more—closed off. Or maybe Eden was the one who had been closed. Or maybe they just hadn't tried hard enough.

But she was a Hunter. She had been there, there, for more than the last century. She'd never been one for jokes, but she'd had the grit, the determination. She had been the one who answered orders first, reacted right away, was the one who would never have given up.

And Lily. Marisol and Lily were so close.

Oh, Lord.

Eden swallowed, let her fingers hover over Marisol's eyes. Then closed them gently. Knowing, as she did so, that there was no returning, that there was no going back. She was closing her eyes and she would never open them again.

_Mari. _

She pulled the body a little closer. Marisol. And she had to look at the sky, squint at the stars, the eternal stars, to keep the tears from falling. No breaking down. No tears. No—

"Eden." Dawn pressed one hand against her shoulder. And Eden had to work harder, clench her jaw, couldn't look at Lily. Lily, Eden, Dawn. The last three Hunters.

"What happened?" Voice that always before had brought comfort, but now just emptiness.

Because she was too late. And Artemis knelt, closed her eyes. And for just one second, Eden saw the pain, the deep, endless pain on the young face. And then it was gone, a steely mask in place, and Eden wondered if she had just imagined it.

The dark didn't like to be held at bay by the spotlights. It pressed towards them, reached out for the people under the tree. But it couldn't make it.

Eden swallowed.

Sudden, always. Training, running, and then the world changes. Someone brings you news. Someone brings you a body and it's never the same again.

(One moment, they had been on the Hunt, after a Manticore, like they had so many other times. One minute, It was all normal, and the next Artemis was freaking out over some monster and they were going to camp. One minute they were there arguing with campers and the next Artemis was missing. One minute they were eating breakfast, and the next, Thalia was there, lieutenant band in hand, dazed look on her face.)

(And that one day she had come back from the butcher, she'd been holding meat, and she'd thought that was what drew the wild dogs to her. But she'd thrown it at them in an attempt to get them off her trail, and it hadn't worked, and she had run, run, run, and then her mother had been there with a sword.)

(And she'd forgotten until just now. How had she forgotten that?)

Artemis gathered up the fallen Hunter. Murmured something. And the body shimmered, a silver dust spreading out. Starlight, killing the darkness, and for a moment the whole world glowed silver.

Lily dropped, like whatever had kept her going had just vanished, and she turned, too, to face the sky. Not crying. Just staring. And Dawn turned, watching Eden. One moment, one look, but it was enough to make her feel like she was breaking.

It wasn't until they made it back to the cabin that they let themselves fall apart.

"We have to kill them," Dawn mumbled, hiding her face in Eden's shoulder "We've got to kill them. We've got to win."

Because then they could mourn. Then they could put life on hold, for a day, and get the crying out. Or two days. They'd have so much time. They'd be able to finish their eternities in peace. But until then they had to pretend it was okay. They had to go on and _win _this fucking war because otherwise she would have died for nothing.

* * *

"A lot of the power is in their thrones," Adam said. "Like what Artemis saw when she was holding the sky. A lot of the life is in Othrys itself—mostly in the thrones, but the building. If we can destroy it, we might be able to weaken them some."

"First we have to get there. "Eden leaned forward some, towards the map. "Where—"

Glowing lines circled the map, making her jump. "Those are the areas where we currently have units," Athena said smoothly. "Four archery sets are waiting outside Redmond. Artemis?"

"On it," the goddess said. And then they were plunged into a silence so thick that even battle axes had nothing on it.

O-o

"The problem is, we don't know where he'd attack."

Peter sighed. "We're never going to know that for sure."

Eden turned neatly on one foot, placing her heel right against the toe of her other foot. Took careful steps, watching the grass bend under her feet, imagining that each blade was a monster she had just killed. Falling beneath her.

Peter's eyebrows scrunched a little. "You okay? I mean—but—"

"'M fine." Because it was easy, so easy to pretend that Mari was jut—somewhere else. She was on a mission was all. Just another mission, she'd be back soon. Maybe not before the big battle, the one they all agreed was coming, but she'd be there.

Someday.

She wasn't going to cry until after. She couldn't.

"You know the most screwed up thing about Kunhyi?" she said, pivoting again and taking another ten steps. "He _loves _the power. Not letting us know, not giving us a sign. Even _Athena _doesn't know where he'll attack, she can only get it down to about five options. He's just gonna overrun us. Unless we overrun him first." The words were tangled as they rushed out. "It's always about the power. He can keep us in suspense."

Pivot. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. "If we can line up the forces around the city, we could attack first. Throw him off. He wouldn't like that." No, then there might be a shift in the power balance, and where would that leave him? "Zeus, he's a freaking psychotic."

"That's news?"

_Knives, pain, fear, dark, Rio's blood all over the—_ "He needs the power, though. He practically gets off on it."

Peter dug his sword tip into the dirt, muddying up the shiny bronze. Light reflected off it, breaking the sun's rays, and she had to squint.

"Don't you?" And there was a trace of mocking in his voice.

She stopped pacing. Just sighed. "I don't have the energy to give you an evil death glare right now."

"Don't worry. I can imagine your evil death glare perfectly."

They stared at each other a moment, and Peter shrugged. Dug his sword tip into the ground and leaned on it as though it were a walking stick and he was a much older man. Which was when Dawn appeared, Lily and Sarah in two. And if Sarah was there, that meant that Twelve and Jonathan were—there.

Their circle wasn't really filed with an awkward silence. Just silence. Everyone, for a moment, in their own little world.

Peter's lip twitched, and Twelve turned. "What?"

The weapon came out of the ground with a sharp tug, and he swung it in a lazy arc over his head. "Just thinking. In any other scenario, we'd probably be a group of college students on break."

"I never got old enough for college," said Lily.

Peter nodded. "True. Damn. Okay, we're the college kids, and you three are the younger siblings mommy told us to be nice to."

"And Fif." Twelve made a show of patting him on the head. "He'd be a younger sibling too."

"Oh, sure. Make fun of the vertically challenged."

"_My _mommy told me that if a girl teases you it means she _liiiikes _you," Sarah said in a high-pitched voice.

Eden rolled her eyes.

"Really?" Peter frowned. "My mom said that if a girl annoys you, she's probably evil and you should kill her."

"Eager to jump start the body count, Johnson?"

Eden shuddered. "Please, don't. We've already got a perfect plan, and with one less person we might have to start all over ag—" She realized what she was saying a moment later, and Lily turned away, just a fraction, hair reaching forward to protect her face.

The silence seemed thicker.

"Well, I'd have for us to lose 'cause of me," Peter said, in a brave attempt to get back to the lighter stuff. "Jeez."

Sarah glanced at Eden. Hesitated a moment. "Do we even have—a chance?"

She could feel Peter and Dawn's eyes on her, waiting for an answer. An answer she wasn't even sure if they knew.

If she knew.

"Yeah," she said finally. "But we're going down fighting even if we don't." Pause. "I feel like this is the part where I say history will remember us for putting up a good fight. But—"

"I think that's tradition." Dawn nodded wisely. "But it's a bullcrap tradition. Since we all know that what actually matters is that history remembers us as the winners."

"Yar," Peter raised his sword again. "See, after we win, we should hang out. Stay in touch."

Dawn nodded. "Every thirty years, when Artemis lets us near technology, I'll call."

"Nice of you."

"Victory party at Pagliaccis?" Jonathon asked, corner of his mouth lifting.

"Count on it." Twelve stopped. "Eden, your master plan doesn't involve blowing up Pagliacci's, right?"

"You'll have to talk to Athena about that. She's the one with the light up map."

"Dammit, Eden. You let the big secret." Peter covered his face. "Don't tell me—"

"I'll move Archer 26 ten feet down. Think that'll be a big enough change? I really don't want to reroute it. The tension in the council room's gotten fucking ridiculous."

She was joking about the secrecy of the map, and everyone knew it, so she didn't understand the hurt in Twelve's eyes.

"Hermes, Athena, Artemis. Can you say _power struggle?_" Peter lowered his voice. "And Ares is due in like ten minutes, and Demeter keeps on phoning in opinions, and Eden goes against whatever Athena says, and…"

Eden sighed. _Why couldn't she have stayed gone? _"Now you're the one giving away the secrets, Peter. I better become buddy-buddy with the goddess of wisdom to throw everyone off the scent."

But it didn't matter. Not really. Shouldn't, anyway, because they were on the even o the biggest fight in six years.

And like Dawn had said, there was no consolation prize for losing.

"So," she said again, wondering if this would be the last somewhat normal conversation of her life. Trying to keep it on the lighter level. Trying to keep it away from Marisol at all costs because—_at this time two days ago she was alive—_but no, no no no no no, she wasn't going there, she was going to make it through this. "What's it like being normal?"

O-o

**As of next chapter, it's solid action basically until the end. I'm sort of two chapters ahead handwritten. (Class was boring today, and yoot was getting interesting.) **

…**I can't believe this thing is almost over O.o **

**Also, yes. Lots of Buffy quotes. Because it's so quotable. You will notice how I worked around the major season five spoiler in the quote, though. This is because I still hope that someday all of you will watch it. /is not shameless at all/**

**O-o**

**AHumanRobot: **Sometimes Hunters survive. Sometimes they die. This time she died.

**Eyha: **She'd been a slave five years. That comes up in the next chapter though.

**Shrrg: **Meh. Sorry. And I am leaving fanfic. When I'm done with this, I'm leaving. In less than a month.

**Dreamcatcher: **True. In a twenty-one year old way.


	46. Chapter 46

_"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."  
— __A.A. Milne__ (__Winnie-the-Pooh__)_

She could see them standing a few feet away. Caught in a sunbeam. Like angels. Angels in armor. But she had to pass out the last few orders before she could approach them, and when she did, she did it slowly. Carefully. Like the illusion would break.

No one had to say anything.

She just offered them both her hands, hands that would soon be covered in blood. And the last three Hunters stood for a moment. Linked. Remembering when there had been four, five, six, twelve in their circle.

"After this we need to go to one of these places for real. To get coffee. Or hot chocolate, or cookies, or something," Dawn said, waving her hand at the Starbucks surrounding them. The Starbucks that had been taken over by soldiers and weapons.

The circle broke.

It occurred to Eden to say that she loved them.

But they knew that.

And she would be able to tell them anyway. Later. There had to be a later.

* * *

General Vix shook his hand. "I'll see to it, sir." Then he turned. Wove his way through the crowd.

And Lars was left with a strange sense of loss. Even Jeff hadn't bothered to come by. To wish him good luck. Or was it just that he hadn't bothered to go see Jeff either?

And he was surrounded by people wondering if they were about to die, and those that normally would have sucked up to him were barely taking heed, on their cell phones, or quiet moments with fellow soldiers.

Lars had no one to call.

_If Ismene—_

But there would be no thoughts of Ismene. Not now. Not fucking ever.

He had a battle to win.

* * *

"Twelve?" Jonathan looked up. And she paused, armor half on. "Yeah?" Adjust breastplate, get knife, wish for gun.

"How come you never went back to being Adrienne?"

Twelve looked around at al l the weapons lining the walls, the people suiting up, the people that somehow managed to talk and yet seem so quiet at the same time. "We're going into battle here."

"I know. That's why I'm asking.

"I dunno why." Twelve looked down. "I guess I just never felt like Adrienne again."

"Think you ever will?"

Blood coming. Death coming. "First we have to survive. Then we'll see."

* * *

"This isn't a goodbye." The words sounded half-empty. Trying to convince herself as well as him. But Peter just nodded, adjusted his radio.

"I know."

"Just so we're clear on that."

"Roger, lieutenant."

* * *

"You don't have to go."

She didn't want to go. But she did. "Yeah, I do."

He pressed his eyes together, squeezed his nose. A soldier surrounded by coffee mugs. And they weren't all going to live. She knew that. But she couldn't dwell on it, couldn't constantly wonder who was going to make it through, because that would kill her more than anything else. She couldn't, but then, some morbid voice made her. Made her look at Alida, at Sarah and Jonathan and Katrina, and wonder who would be left standing.

Wondering if it would be her.

What she wanted to do was cry like a little kid, to lie down and not get up. But she could do this. She didn't want to die. She wasn't going to die. She didn't want to die. She was twenty one and she could drive and vote and drink and have sex and she wanted to live…

"Will we make it to Elysium even if we lose?" It would be better to know. Better to know there was a place there for her. Maybe she should just give up hope of living so she wouldn't be afraid. Would that make it easier? She could drive and vote and drink and have sex but she would never get a car and never vote and never taste the beer that Lars had drawn so much comfort from. (Could shades have sex? Or were they too ghostly?)

_Reality, Twelve. Come back to reality. _

_I'mgonnadie. _

Greg nodded. "A shot, anyway. The judges are all impartial. It's you they judge, not your side."

"Comforting."

"It should be."

They stood one more moment, staring at each other. And they were both alive, unhurt, and that might change so soon and was this the last time they would ever—

* * *

Lars stood near the gated edge of Mount Othrys, staring hard at the city below. Twelve hours of commotion, of staking claims, and he could still sense the tension from here.

But it was time. Kronos had made that clear.

He called to mind the familiar mental image. Emmerson dead and bloody and in pain and that was so close to a reality. And he had a new motivator too—his dad, alive, cancer free. Which he would be when they won this.

Steady fingers pressed a button on his radio.

"Go."

* * *

"Archery 27, send a volley at the front line." The goal was to fight their way downtown. Get to Othrys. _Power in the thrones. _

She could see the arrows crossing the windows, the Starbucks mermaid looking more like a target as it caught the strays. Deadly raindrops from the U District roofs, coming at the storm of monsters and yellow dust.

Back, forth, Back, forth. She fell again into her pattern, her pacing, rubbing her bow between her fingers. The feeling of power it came with it—she sighed, slipped out the back door. Up the fire escape, with its biting metal bottom, to the roof. Leaving the last little bubble of peace to join her unit.

Sending an arrow into a neck, ending a life. She braced her knee against the giant _S, _let the _t _catch a spike of some sort that had been heading her way.

"Volley," she said again. Unable to restrain the faint rush she got from her arrow, arrow that kissed the exposed neck of a dracaena, let it crumble to dust.

"_He practically gets off on it." _

"_And you don't?" _

She laughed a little. Let herself feel invincible. Just for a moment.

* * *

"It's starting," Alida muttered.

Twelve nodded. "Yeah."

"Well."

"Yeah."

And then they could hear it. Death, coming even closer, closer.

* * *

Lars stood on Mount Othrys and watched.

Waiting.

* * *

"Duck!" Eden fell face first on the roof as the blast went off above them. Rubble everywhere. Then up again, and the next explosion was their own, creating a gaping hole in the street below. A hole in the sea of monsters.

"They're coming by Cherry," Athena's voice said. "I'm sending a unit that way via twenty-third."

"Good."

The supernatural connection fizzled out and was replaced with—

"Fuck, are those flying lizards?" Dawn squinted upwards, raised her bow.

_I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid. _"Seems as good a description as any. _Maia!_"

* * *

Clanging swords.

Arrows.

A group.

Of people falling.

People fighting.

She was fighting.

She was killing.

Nothing but her, and the sword, and the swing.

The sight of the blood she caused.

Human blood.

Human screams.

Monster blood.

Dust.

It was all the same.

They were all the same.

The Enemy.

And ten feet behind her.

Alida screaming in pain.

* * *

The residential neighborhood had once been nice. Big houses, open lawns, wide front porches. Now the empty houses could see only street fighting, monsters that seven years ago no one knew.

Twelve kicked the window in, dragging Alida forwards. "You're going to be fine." Constant muttering. "You're going to be fine, fine, fine."

But it was blood, blood and she was bleeding and they had come for them and they had been swinging swords and knives and they had fought and fought and fought and gained some ground and Alida had screamed and now she was _bleeding. _

Footsteps on the stairs. A person running towards them.

"_Hope_," Twelve said quietly, raising a sword. The room spinning as she tried to recognize the person.

Lily sighed in relief. "_Eternal_."

Twelve swallowed, trying to think. Let the room settle down again, the world come back into focus. "Can I—is there a place—she's _hurt._"

"Sofa over there." Lily pointed. "We're upstairs, playing target practice on Titan uniforms."

"Should I go to a different—" she'd picked the nearest house, in a panic, pulling her to safety, maybe they should move (Could she fight her way through, make it to a different house without being…)

But the presence of the others made her feel safer, a touch with reality. Made her feel like she hadn't just abandoned her unit. But her unit wasn't a unit anymore. They were scattered, pushed back. And she wasn't deserting.

If there were people fighting here, from the house, she could do so too.

In a few minutes she would rejoin the fight.

"We've got people in all of them. This house is as good as any." And then Lily was gone, small body, small girl, running back up the stairs, radiating power.

"Twelve—I'm fine—" Alida put a hand on her side, trying to contain the blood. So much blood. "I'll be fine. I'm bleeding all over the nice sofa."

Fuck the sofa because Alida was there, she was hurt, but she wasn't going to die, she couldn't.

"Stay. I'll go see if this house comes with first aid supplies."

Alida gasped softly, leaned forward. "I'm… not going anywhere."

Out in the street, screaming and yelling. So different than inside the house. A look at another life. Twelve paused next to a framed family portrait. The typical one. Mom, Dad, two babies on a powder blue Yuen Lui background. Was it new, or old? Were those two little girls all grown up or were they just toddlers? Leaving home while there was so much danger, not knowing they'd come back to find their sofa covered in blood…

But Alida was here, Alida was hurt, Alida was going to be okay. Had to be okay. And Twelve had stabbed, h ad killed, and she was unharmed and she was a killer and…

The second floor was nearly peaceful. Twenty feet away, Lily and four other archers were standing by a large window, calmly taking aim at the people below. Who in the panic didn't seem to see where they were coming from. Arrows coming from all the houses, down into the street. Secret arrows, they were. Silent, secret arrows.

So deadly.

* * *

"Bring Delta Eight back around. There's a group of Olympians coming right—don't let them reach Othrys."

* * *

She couldn't see where Dawn had gone. Nothing to do but hope. (But she was alive. Eden could feel it.) She ducked around another building, crouching as something exploded ten feet behind her.

"We can't get near Seattle Center," Greg was yelling. She could hear the earpiece crackle as it tried to adjust to the volume. "They've pushed a few out of downtown, we're coming around across the water."

"Are we still holding I-5?" Arrow to bow. Release. Arrow to man's neck.

"We've still got that one, but we can't get off the exits. They're all flying over Lake Union."

It was easier when they were all organized. Blocks of monsters, marching forwards. Fire at the mass. Not now that it had deteriorated into hand to hand combat. Not now that everyone was all over the place, firing, but mostly just fighting, fighting, to stay alive, everywhere, mixed, and she didn't know where anyone was—

It was strange. The feeling that this was really here, really happening. But there was no time to think, to ponder, to notice. "I'll see if I can sneak over to Othrys."

"Eden—"

"They're less likely to notice me if I'm alone. I'll just scout. Recon."

And she could feel his presence, even from miles away. There was only one person that could make her feel that much hate, that much disgust, and he was located due west.

She could feel the energy, too. Building up inside her. A long-lost friend.

O-o

First there were arrows. Then there was Twelve standing a few feet behind archers, walk tot he bathroom interrupted. Then there was panic. Then there was something small and black spinning towards them through the sunlit air.

"Get out of here!" Lily turned, eyes going wide, already in motion. "We have to—"

And Twelve only had time to see it fly, and then she was moving, adrenaline pushing her forward. _Away._ And she was going through another window, glass biting at her metal covered arms, and Alida was waiting for her downstairs, and the world was torn apart with the force of the explosion.

And she was being pushed, _flying,_ landing, slamming against the neatly pruned laurels. Behind her, fire and smoke.

Shock. Terror. Rubble.

Pain.

O-o

**You will notice my restraint at **_**not **_**using a Buffy quote. Though I also considered the "Don't. Anything you say is gonna sound like goodbye." (Dawn, **_**Chosen.**_**) (Did you like my sneaky way of adding it in the a/n anyway?) **

**ALSO: VERY IMPORTANT (SORT OF): AS OF A COUPLE DAYS AGO, I AM DONE WRITING YOOT. The last 9,000-odd words aren't edited yet, BUT IT IS DONE. THEY ARE WRITTEN. And now I don't know what to do with myself. I decided I was too happy, so I started reading **_**I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.**_ **That's an antidote to happiness if I ever read one. **

**So expect pretty quick updates. Though I'm trying to limit myself to once a week so as not to overload your inboxes. **

**AHumanRobot: **I'm not sure if _delight _is the right word, but it's something I do. Sorry about the typos. I'll look for them when I'm less emotionally drained.

**Victor Janus: **Nah, it's not bad for you. Just less pesky updates : )

**EDTA: **You're sad but at the same time you're not? And yeah. Actioney actionness.

**Dreamcatcher: **Yeah… if I did my math right, she's twenty one. And don't cry. Please. If anything, cry at the writing and not the lack of :D jk.

**Hi: **No. I'm leaving FFN. For real this time.

**Emily: **Yep…

**Nien: **you realize if I'd had my way he'd have been dead a long time ago, right? …well, maybe not. Because I didn't really want to have to add in all that emotional angst on Twelve's part. So. Merp.

**Tony: **Death. Death is fun….

**Hazelstar: **Not offended by the idea of femmslash. But… I never saw it in their relationship. Thalia is so not gay. And they were sisters. In the Hunter-sense and the Zeusling sense.

_Hey you know what you guys should do? Review. Getting six reviews and 130 hits makes me sad inside, even though I tell myself I'm above such things. :D_


	47. Chapter 47

_Spike: "I could have danced all night with that one."  
Buffy: "You think we're dancing?"  
Spike: "That's all we've ever done." _

_-Douglas Petrie, "Fool For Love" (BtVS 5.7)_

It could have been several minutes, or hours, or maybe just seconds that she lay there. Braches tearing into her arms, her legs, and it had been so hot, and she didn't know how badly she was hurt, was she hurt, and she had to see if the others were okay. Turned towards the house behind her.

Where was it?

No. she looked around, hoping to see it somewhere else—maybe she'd gotten turned around and—

Alida. Lily.

And the sun was a traitor, it shone on her, so dazzling and bright, when it should have gone dark after the blast.

There were fewer people on the street, mostly leaving the area that had been consumed by noise. To take their swords and their shields somewhere where they wouldn't turn to flame. No one minded Twelve as she lunged forward. Footprints in the bloody grass.

"Alida? Lily?"

Blackened. Burned. Wreckage. Blackened boards and melted insulation that sixty seconds ago had been a house. A home. With pictures of children hanging on the walls.

Half the stove stared at her suspiciously.

And the last few soldiers fled, and the silence was abrupt and unwelcome.

"Alida? Lily?"

Oh god no oh god no no no no no and she tripped over a body and _oh God _who was it but it was too big for Alida and she was an awful, awful person for being relieved. The face was gone, crispy, black, _burned, gone, _all of it, and ten minutes ago it had been a person—

She reached into her pocket, grabbed the drachma. Hoped that he'd remembered his.

Small fires danced around her, dying as they ran out of things to burn.

There was no second floor above her. It was just—gone. Blown away, leaving the whole place open to the sky. Where the—grenade? Bomb? Had landed. Jesus, no, please, no. And there were the burned remains of what might have been a sofa—

(And how on earth was _she _the one alive?)

Shiny.

Something shiny on the ground and she picked it up, her hand shaking and bloody (is it her blood?) and it's a piece of a shield. Shied that had been leaning up against the side of the—

No. No. No no no no no no nonononononononono.

"ALIDA!"

Silence.

"ALIDA WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

Silence. Never ending silence.

"LILY!"

What was that smell?

She finally realize the pain, surrounding her. Her leg screamed as it bucked under the pain, so much pain, as she fell, and she was bleeding and dying and the house had blown apart and she was alive and how was she alive and the others, _where were they? _

"Alida! Lily!"

And she was falling falling falling.

_Lily. Alida. _

* * *

There he was. Practically alone. Watching the goings on. And she knew she should be bossing people around right now. But they had Athena.

The goddess would have to do something with her time until she saw fit to enter the battle.

Eden had a mission.

Anyway, Lars was directing people up here. Taking him out could cause problems for them, right?

But it didn't matter. She was out of reasons to justify it to herself, and she didn't care. Cared only about the burning hate driving her forward.

_Hate. Hatehatehatehatehatehatehate. _

It was easy, too easy, to loop around behind him. Stopping a second to look around. At the tall throne room, the temples. Quiet and empty. So much like Olympus. So much it scared her.

"Hi."

He spun, eyes narrowing. She wondered if her face looked like that, mangled with the force of the hatred. And his hand went to his sword. And they stood that way for a moment, eyeing the other, calculating.

"Taking a break?"

"You already need one?" He demanded, raising his weapon.

"In a few. I guess I should kill you first." _I _need_ to kill you first. _She needed that. Needed the feeling of sticking some form of metal deep into him, seeing his lungs stop working. His eyes widen as he realized what had happened and his stone cold face lying in the dirt.

_Hate. _

She'd never felt hate that intense.

"You think _I'm _the one that's going to die?"

She ducked, sensing the action right before he did it—felt the path of the rock before it reached her.

_So endeth the pre-battle insults. _

* * *

He clenched his teeth. _Kill. Kill kill kill kill. _And he lunged. She dodged. She swung. He blocked. And there was no one in the world but him and her and the fight and the grunts and the gasps. No battle raging below. No orders. None but the two of them, doing a twisted waltz across the deserted Mount Othrys.

* * *

Pain, everywhere, burning, where was Alida, Lily, what about Six or Sarah or whatever she went by now. Fif, and Katrina, and her dad. Where was he?

Mom?

Why had they all left her here?

* * *

One lucky jab broke the skin on his shoulder. Blood rushing down. He stopped, frowned, but it hadn't cut anything important. His arm still raised. It could still swing. It could still kill her.

It was then that he realized he—no. He couldn't be tired. It was impossible. So he jabbed.

Like in soccer. One team gets a goal and the next two minutes are the most dangerous, when the other team is most likely to make the tie. Because of the rush, the determination, would spin. Luck bouncing from one end of the stadium to another.

His swing slipped under her arm, hitting her hard across the side. She stopped. For one moment. Dizzy. And he pushed—

* * *

One second. All she could afford before she pushed back, and the dance resumed. Dragging them forwards.

And her sword hit his, and he dropped it, and for a moment he thought it was over. She could see it on his face. The question.

Then he was on her. Kicking, punching, and her sword fell as well and she went backwards, and she, too, was kicking. Threw him away in one swift motion, and she was punching, clawing, all the skin not covered by thick metal.

His foot, her face, her hand catching his foot. Pull him over, then he was up again, and the blood from his shoulders was smeared across her face.

* * *

It was almost better without the weapons. She reached for the knife, but he caught her hand, jerking her backwards. And she pulled away before he could do any damage to it. Before he could crush her fingers, hear the snap as he broke the arm for the second time. She wouldn't let him.

And then they were rolling, rolling away down the road, her hands on his throat, his fists in her stomach. A few moments of clawing, of rolling back and forth like children. And then they were on their feet again, somehow.

Slowly, he started to laugh. "No tricks," he said. "No weapons. That's how real men fight, huh?"

Lines of blood traced her ponytail. Badly done highlights. And he glared at her through the dirt covering his face. Glaring. Hate. _Hate. _

"I dunno. I've never been a man. Sounds tedious, though."

Four steps to her quiver, six to her bow, five forward, two the left for her sword.

But he was there, in the way, and she could deal with this.

Maybe that was the only way to handle this much hate. Beating each other up, digging fingernails into armor chinks, trying to tear of said armor in an attempt to do more damage. Blood and flesh under her fingernails.

_(And the chain on her ankle hurt, like she was some dog that wasn't allowed to run out of the yard. She tugged at it, but it didn't move. She hadn't expected it to. And in a small way she was grateful because it was dark, so dark, like it was too small and to big out there at the same time and the metal cuff was the only thing holding her down to earth.) _

"Hey, how's your back healing up?" he asked casually.

* * *

Before, she had been hard to read. Eyes like shutters, closing her off, not letting anything, nothing he could use against her, to slip through. But that was gone now. He could see the anger. Feel the anger as she tackled him with more force, as he once again fell onto his back, using all his strength to keep her fingernails away from his eyes.

And he pushed her, and she jumped away, too quickly, too easily. And he realized where she was going and he got up, and there was pain. Yes, there was pain, and yet it only pushed him harder, harder. Because he was going to fucking win.

* * *

The knife, lying abandoned, and she grabbed it, swung blindly upwards. Heard his gasp as she hit flesh, split open his face. And then they were moving, spinning, skipping, twirling up towards the throne room. Weapons back in hand.

Hate.

Hurt.

Kill.

"_Reinforcements heading up to Othrys now," _someone said in her earpiece, but it was hard to understand through the blood, blood pounding through her system, so loudly.

The reinforcements didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

She'd earned the right to kill him.

* * *

His face hurt. But the blood was below his eyes, out of his line of sight.

He could taste it on his lips.

It tasted good.

"Guh!" She blocked him, stepping into the throne room. And Lars didn't know if the blood covering her, covering his arms, was his or hers or if it even mattered.

* * *

The thrones, too, were so like Olympus it almost hurt. The Titans didn't deserve this. To have the center of their power so—

_Center of their power. _

Power. It filled the room, making her skin tingle. Power. Raw, pure. Terrifying, exhilarating. And she could feel it, too, rushing through her, that little bit extra. The spark.

Her sword met Lars's again, and for a moment, they stood still, weapons together. Pushing so hard against each other that the stood still.

But he was the one to jump back, and she the one to fall forward a little. Having to twist and fall to avoid the sharp blade. And he stabbed down, and she rolled, but it was taking longer to get back up. Leaving trails of blood across the white marble floor.

* * *

Power. It practically sang. Music to the dance, the dance that was more like a tango now than a waltz.

He could feel Kronos just a split second before he saw him. In mortal form, leaning casually against his massive chair.

And then Lars couldn't move. And for a second, he thought she had won. But she, too, was frozen. Sword raised, but standing still.

"By all means don't let me interrupt. Say, have we met?"

* * *

No. Why now?

With a jolt, reality returned. She'd taken off to Othrys to kill Lars, left everyone she cared about on the ground. Dawn. Lily. If one of them died—if she could have saved them—

Or Greg or Peter—

No. She was going to win this. The bloodlust was still there, the sparks were still there, still raging, building, and if only she could move—

"If you want to finish off your little tussle, then by all means, go ahead. I can wait."

Ad Lars's sword was coming towards her and she ducked, stabbing him in the foot.

* * *

But the energy was failing. Even though he'd never admit that Kronos's presence frightened him as much as it did her.

_Dad. _

* * *

Father."

They all turned, turned, wondering if the world was slipping away. To where Demeter was standing in the archway. Eyes bright.

The Titan Lord snarled, took a step closer. "Long time no see."

"Have you been teaching him the lingo?" Eden muttered. "He learns fast."

She was not afraid.

Even if she died.

She was not, wouldn't be, afraid.

_Not—_

DawnLilyGregAdamPeter, hell, even Twelve and the slaves—

But so many more were dead. And she would not fear death. Wouldn't, couldn't, because then—

"I could crush you in an instant."

And Demeter drew two long wooden staffs from thin air, raised them in a possibly threatening manner.

"Please, try."

And Kronos ran two steps before he sensed the trick. And then he turned, but Athena and Ares had already materialized, and Kronos turned, punching Ares in the windpipe, but Athena was on him.

Lars chose that moment to renew the attack, and the music started again.

* * *

One Titan. Three Gods. One Hunter. One Mortal.

But there were more coming. There were always more. Because Rhea was there, suggesting that they all work it out peacefully. Then Hermes was there, And Epimetheus was there,, swinging his arms around, hitting everyone within reach.

And then there was Artemis.

Power appearing in front of their very eyes.

She wasn't sure when she and Kunhyi slowed their fight to watch. Just knew that the end was approaching.

And there was more excitement than fear. More feelings of strength. And she was about to turn back to Kunhyi, stab him, _hurt _him, _kill _him, when—

_Boom. _

Eyes going to where the latest player had entered the game. When the last man had come from the bar and onto the dance floor.

"Dad."

He wasn't all there. She could see it. Fuzzy around the edges. Weaker.

"When people are dying for you, your essence has a stronger pull," Zeus said calmly. Stepping forward.

"You're going to fight me when you're not at full strength?" Kronos's laughed, and Epimetheus offered a chorus.

And the fight resumed. Desperate fighting, for the power that Eden could nearly taste.

The power she could feel continuing to build.

* * *

And Kronos lunched, scythe swinging, and Emmerson was distracted, and Lars took the opportunity to stab. Or try to stab. She ducked, and he blocked. Stab, kick, block.

Ducking as her sword wizzed over his head. Her quiet gasp of pain as his dagger hit her breastbone.

Flashes of light as immortals fought less than one hundred feet away.

Pounding of feet as people—Olympian people and Titan minions—gathered outside. Not daring to answer. Just killing out there, taking their blood outdoors where it belonged—

The side of her sword caught him square in the face, and he stumbled. Felt his nose swell up.

_No—_

She wasn't going to win this—

* * *

They fought in the dark. The shadowy corners of the great throne room.

The gods fought in the light. Wild animals, they were, tear each other apart. And Zeus was there—a tiger, an eagle, back again.

And the gods, the weakened gods, were losing. She could see it in the way their attacks had less force, that they were slowly being herded together. Outnumbered, eternally outnumbered. It appeared equal but she could feel it. Feel what was coming. And then Atlas had Artemis by the neck—

_**No.**_

It was with an eerie sort of control that she raised her fist. A calm, spreading from her ribcage out. The power that had been growing, not in out of control blasts, but a measured pace. Controlled. One flash of light mingling with the others, throwing him backwards. And an owl—Athena—turned towards her. Eyes like daggers.

_Thrones, _said the clear voice in her head.

_Kill Kunhyi, _she thought back. Turning to do so.

Because he was there, trying to keep the blood out of his eyes, and Zeus pushed at Kronos, but he wasn't all there, not yet, not really, and he had no hope, and Kronos's scythe was flying towards him, and blasting him wouldn't keep him back.

So much power in the room. She drew on it, called it. Clenched her teeth. And then Lars didn't exist anymore. And the earth didn't exist. And there was no space left for fear, to wonder if it was possible, because it was panic and instinct driving her forwards.

Just pulled everything out of herself. Every store of energy hidden anywhere in her body. Then she ran. And as Zeus grasped the scythe by the head, pushed it away from him, she reached the center of the ring of thrones—

What was she doing why hadn't she killed him—

_Powerpowerpowerpowerpower. _

Power, power in the thrones, and if there wern't thrones there would be less power and if there was less power...

And Atlas was the one who sensed her, turned towards her, but too late, too late. Because it was already coming.

Light, light everywhere.

And the walls came falling down.

* * *

**I'm editing this on Thursday. Let's see how long I last in this whole once-a-week-update thing I have going. **

**Bah. **

**Also, I finally deleted SS. This is such a freeing experience. You have no idea. Now, if I only I could delete WW too… **

_**Also, shiny new blog post, you should go look :D writing-ish . blogspot . com **_

**Moon—**pft. Don't worry about it. I was just feeling needy :D Yeah, there's a lot going on. That or I've just been watching too many fight scenes on TV. Damn. And yeah… Jonathan is Fifteen. I don't think I've ever met an Asian Jonathan, but I've never really looked. (I didn't actually come up with the name. I had a panic attack and said something "SHRRGNIEN WHAT'S FIF'S NAME' and she said something like "He seems like a Jonathan." So I said "OK" and went with it. Yup.

**Hi—**I haven't been on inkpop much lately, I should go back. Yeah, I guess I'll keep up with the blog for a bit, at least until school lets out and I run out of prompts. I'm always going to be on Goodreads, if nothing else. And Skype.

**Brightgreenskittles: **Can I call you Skittle? And thanks. Glad this one was good. Meh… I don't really have a favorite chapter. I have some least favorites, though :p

**AHumanRobot: **Buffy is just so… _quotable. _Well, not necessarily Buffy herself, but the people around her (see: Spike.) and… nevermind. I'm sort of sad too. But also happy. I don't know. I'm emotionally conflicted.

**Biblioholic: **It'll end, no worries. Uhm… I think I have, like, four chapters left? Five, since I split the epilogue into two parts? I didn't actually cut it into chapters, I just wrote.

**Lark: **…the happy thing was sarcasm, since _I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings _is supposed to be a kind of depressing book. (I also read _Night _at a soccer game once. Got a lot of grief from the guy sitting behind me :D I have inappropriately timed reading material. What can I say.)

**DCThunder: **Ssh! You weren't supposed to notice the whole added quote thing. Which mistakes? Point them out?

**Nien: ***huggles back* They're alive, or maybe alive. You just never know. Shrug. I think I read Canisp… did you write it? I know I read your ones about Hunters and reviewed… What's the opening to chapter six, again? Do I get royalties? :D

**Dreamcatcher: **Don't cry. Crying is sad.

**Tony: **Martha Stewart's a demon, though. Remember? And _yes! _Another Buffy fan! My life is complete. (All my IRL friends got really tired of the Buffy quoting really, really quickly. But… come on. It's Spike. [_They make me feel all manly] _and Anya _[I just like the parts with the money] _and Giles [_you never train with me anymore. He's going to kick your ass._] and what's not to love? :D / shuts up

**Little Miss Hades: **….I'm going to take that as rhetorical? Because I am not that great..

**Anonymous: **Why thank you.

**EDTA: **Oh, _that's _what EDTA stands for. I wondered. And bangs are good.


	48. Chapter 48

"_He looks again at the face of the little girl. He wonders where she went, that little firecracker life, that smoldering, spitting, whizgig of a girl. He wonders if he can tell from the expression on her face where she's gone to.  
And he smiles because he can.  
The angels would want her sure." _

_-The Reapers are the Angels _by Alden Bell

Pain. Pain was the first thing he knew, even before he opened his eyes. Perhaps he knew it even before he came back into consciousness. Pain, and then that he was outside. It took a moment for the hate to return.

Because they had been in the throne room.

Emmerson—

He had to kill her.

But he didn't know if he could move and if he couldn't move how could he kill? If he couldn't move did that mean he had lost?

_Dad. Dad. No. _Because if he couldn't move how could he win and if he couldn't win how would his dad live and if his dad died how would he…

Rubble. He w as covered in rubble. Marble. Heavy. Pain. Crushing him. Like the throne room had—

_Oh. _

Because the throne room had fallen down around them.

It was then that a face appeared above him. Backlight by the sun, a glowing halo around her head.

But it couldn't, be couldn't be—

"Ten?"

Sharp pain on the side of his head. Then he returned to the nothing.

* * *

She had to tell them. They had to understand. They couldn't take her dirty man smiled. "The battle's over, sister."

Oh.

"How?"

"Nobody knows. One minute it's all flashing lights on Othrys and the next Zeus has come from nowhere and is claiming victory. We'll probably learn more later."

Later. Yeah. "My dad. Dad'll know." _He was alive wasn't he? _

"I'll ask when I see him. You lie down now."

Over the blood to the open space. Space! Grass! Where? Soccer field? People. Bodies. All over. No, not bodies. People. Alive. People alive. And she was going down! Being lowered. On a tarp. _Oh God. _

"Alida—"

"Found her in a bombed house." Voice. Far away. "Says she's Adrienne Galdstrup."

"Lily and Alida. I'm supposed to find them." Carrying. She was being carried. She had awoken to not being on the ground anymore. She was on a board. Yell? Might help. No. Monsters would hear.

"We'll keep looking in the area but you need to get to a hospital spot."

"Battle."She was supposed to be fighting in it. They couldn't take her away!

Not listening. Why? Weren't they listening? "Lily told us to run," she said louder. "You have to find Lily."

Silence. Had they finally heard?

Person kneeling next to her. Not the dirty man. Another. "Lily the Hunter?"

"Yes! Find her!"

And the dirty man left. The clean man looked down at her.

"What happened?" Touching her leg. Her leg hurt. God, her leg hurt. She didn't want anyone touching it. It. Fucking. _Hurt. _

"Boom." Why didn't they understand? "Alida hurt. Brought her inside. Lily upstairs shooting. Then she says run and _boom!_" It was all fractured. Spinning. Why was the world spinning?

And then someone was holding a cup and she drank and it was warm and soft and black again…

* * *

The world came back slowly.

It started with a word.

"Eden."

And a voice.

Dawn, Dawn, Dawn was there. How was Dawn there? Dawn was alive.

So why couldn't she open her eyes and see her?

Her limbs were heavy. Aching. So heavy, and she couldn't move, couldn't stand. What the fuck was going on and why, why, what was happening? Where was— "Lily?"

"She'll be here," Dawn said gently. Dawn. Warm hand on her shoulder. Moving some of the heaviness away. "You'll be okay once I get these… huge blocks of stone… away."

No. Lars. She had to kill him. He was almost dead.

Like she was?

Was this what dying felt like?

"Eden, you'll be okay."

No… no…

"You'll be _okay, _Eden. Come on. Stay here."

Dawn's fingers on her arm.

Desperate attempts to hold her down, to keep her soul from flying off.

Flying.

She liked flying. Artemis's chariot, sailing through the sky. Lark and Lydia crammed on either side of her. They had been flying.

"Eden."

Lark and Lydia. Dead? But they were with Dawn. They had all been so close. The three of them, together, always.

She was dying. Had to be. Slipping. Things, things reaching for her, pulling her away.

"Dawn, quick."

* * *

"Twelve. Twelve."

Voices. Voice all around her, and she carefully opened one eye.

"Twelve, you can wake up now."

"Kat?"

"Right here. You need to wake up."

She forced one eye open. And the crippling pain returned. Pain in her leg. Arms. But Ten. Ten was there.

"Kat."

A smile. "Hey."

She was alive. And Twelve closed her eyes again. Sighed. "What happened?"

"You… your leg."

She knew. She could feel it. It hurt. It hurt so much. "Why aren't we fighting?"

_Pain pain pain. _

"It's over, Twelvie. It's all over." Katrina swallowed. Story tumbling out of her, like she couldn't keep it in for another second. "I was sent up to Othrys with the backup unit. The gods, Emmerson, Lord Lars, were all there. Fighting. And so we couldn't go in to help. But Emerson… she did something. And the thrones just… I think they basically exploded. _Everything _exploded. Like she morphed into a bomb or something. Destroyed the thrones. And Typon was raising a holy ruckus below down in Lake Union and you could hear _that _battle happening, but suddenly it, like, died out, you could hear it ending, it was like Typon just kind of gave up, like he ran out of energy or something.

So, right, the throne room. We were going towards it, back when it was still standing, and you know there's a battle going on inside, it's all flashing lights. And the gods… oh god I'm not making sense am I. I've been— talking in circles—"

Twelve had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out in pain. "It's okay. What… what happened?"

Kat's hands flittered around, looking for something to fix. "You're hurt. I should—"

Surrounded by people in pain. They didn't need to hear about more. "No. Tell." _Dad, Fif, Sarah. _

_(Alida is dead)_

"And there's all the light. And then it… it just, like I said, it jut crumbled. And there was all the light. And Zeus… he sort of… absorbed it. Like the light, or whatever, was only Eden temporarily, and the light was going back to him. It was power, you could feel it."

"_Feel_ it?"

"It felt like—" She stopped.

And Twelve realized somehow, though a haze of pain. It felt like Lars. The way your stomach felt when he glared at you and you knew you were the one that was going to suffer. _Power. _Someone else's.

* * *

"We have time, Eden. Lots and lots of time. You'll be okay."

Won? Who? Building. Falling. Light. Silver light. Like the lieutenant band. Dawn was the next lieutenant! And she had things, things to tell her.

"Artemis'll be here soon. Hold on until then, okay? Promise, Eden."

Artemis. Things to tell her. "Dawn," she gasped. So much work to get air out. "Dawn…"

"Here, Eden. If… if you wait long enough, Lily will be here too."

* * *

"So he—he grew, Twelve. He was all glowy. And the thrones are in pieces, and Kronos looks pissed, and Zeus kind of pushed him back, they all did, And then Zeus had the scythe and Kronos was in two pieces, I blinked, I think, and then he was in_ three_ pieces. And Athena grabbed it from him, the scythe, from Zeus, I mean, and—it's really powerful, I guess, because the other Titans were all backing away. And yes, she actually did _grab _it from him so I think there's going to be family problems because of that since Athena has totally been fighting this war even more than he has… anyway, so she takes it and cuts him into more pieces and then raises it up all scary-like and I guess she's scarier looking than Zeus because all the other Titans just get the fuck out of her way.

* * *

Lily. Would she be able to wait for Lily? "She doesn't like going to bed."

"What?"

Important. Important. "You need to… she needs sleep. Make her go to bed by eleven or else she's uncoordinated in the morning. And Marisol. She's the best at listening so don't make any plans she's not supposed to hear yet because she can hear you from like thirty feet away. But she'll always know where the monsters are."

Gods, it hurt. But she had to keep going. There was so much Dawn needed to know. And some voice in her head told her that Dawn already knew, but just in case. Just in case she'd forgotten.

* * *

"But then Atlas and Hyperion charged and Athena takes out Hyperion in like, a second, and then Artemis and Ares tackle Atlas and Zeus takes the scythe back and chops him up. And… suddenly the other Titans are all in chains, he did some weird magic thing I guess, I don't know, but they lost their throne sand they lost Kronos and they lost the power in the scythe and I think that was enough to make the gods that much stronger. _Zeus _was so much stronger. And he's demanding the release of the other gods and… he _glowed._ He wasn't all there before, his essence wasn't all there, but I think by the end it was, what with all his glowyness. And there was all the broken white marble around him so it seemed even brighter." Pause. "I'm really losing it, aren't I. God. I can't explain—"

"I think you make sense." Twelve bites her lip.

Won.

Free.

Over.

* * *

"Eden, ssh." Broken voice. "You can take care of them yourselves."

"Willow's arm might hurt for awhile. The smiley face. He put it there. But it's not happy. It's just pretending. See if Artemis can fix it, okay?"

She was swimming in the dark. Dark, everywhere. She had to open her eyes.

"You can tell Artemis that yourself. You'll be okay." Desperation. "Eden, _please—_"

No. No. She had to see.

* * *

"Lars and Eden?"

"I found Lars." Katrina's arm hand pressed down against Twelve's shoulder to keep her from sitting up. "Knocked him unconscious and dragged his worthless ass to your dad. They'll figure out what to do with him." Still the disbelief in her voice, the chaos of the last twenty four hours. Chaos of the last five years, and it might only be just beginning.

But only one word of that mattered."Dad's oaky?'

Reassuring smile. "He'll be fine."

* * *

But it was dark.

_Open your eyes. _

Pain.

_Do it! _

Pain. Dark.

_No energy. _

Dawn. Hand. Rubble.

* * *

"Fif?"

"Jonathan's looking for you and Sarah. We split up."

Sara. Six. Sarah. Where was—and her dad—where?

"Is Eden gonna kill Lord Lars?" She wasn't sure if she wanted to see, but she also wasn't sure if she wanted to miss it. Eden was probably more than capable of thinking up painful deaths.

(And _holy fucking Zeus _her leg hurt.)

Ten bit her lip. "Eden… she was hurt pretty bad. Dawn was trying to dig her out when I left."

"Was she…?"

"I think she was alive. I don't know. I… I left." An apology, though they both knew one wasn't needed.

"Sarah?"

"I'm sure she's okay too." A whisper. "Just… just rest, okay? Get better. I'm sorry. I told you too much, I—It just—it's all so—"

"Saved me hours of worry."

"Calm. Do calmy things."

She bit her lip. Eden. Potentially dead? Eden was all "I'm immortal and invincible and can kick your ass," and it was _true. _And Twelve had seen her in Lars's basement and she still— so she couldn't be dead. She would be fine.

And Sarah. Sarah would be fine too. They would find her. They had to find her. Because she was Sarah, she was Six, and she was always the one most likely to survive. The strongest. The most determined. And so if Kat and Jonathan and Twelve were alive she must be too.

_But Alida isn't—_

Because who survived the battles didn't depend on who was the strongest—

And she wanted to collapse and she hurt, Christ, she hurt all over.

* * *

_Open your eyes. _

And she did.

White light. Everywhere. White fading to blue.

The sky.

Dawn's face.

A smile.

"Eden?"

* * *

"My leg."

"What about it?"

Pain. Like the leg was on fire. Twelve clenched her teeth. "Is it—"

"Wait until the doctor comes by. I don't… I don't know. Bout the leg."

"I want to see it."

Katrina stared for a moment.

Maybe she just needed proof. That it was real, all real. That it was over. Or maybe it was the pain. Because if she saw her leg, if she was able to see what was causing it, causing all the pain, maybe it would be better. Because it was better than the invisible type of pain, that grabbed her heart, her mind, squeezing and tearing and _ripping. _The kind in her leg she could fight.

Katrina gently lifted the blanket. Revealed a tunnel of white bandage.

The sky seemed to get bigger above her, the other injured lying around farther and farther away.

"Look," Twelve whispered. "Please."

"Twelve, I can't—"

The first tear of many slipped out. "_Please, _Kat."

* * *

Pain. Hard.

Light burns.

It was just Dawn there.

The others.

Where?

Where were they?

* * *

And it was gentle fingers that lifted up the edge of the bandage. Just a little. Just enough to see.

And she stared at it a second. "Oh."

And then it was over. She hid her face in Ten's shoulder and it all came rushing out. Shock ebbing as the sung glared down at them and people screamed in pain and Alida was dead and Sarah was missing and Eden was hurt and gods, it was going to kill her dad—

"Sssshhh." But Kat was crying too. "Ssh. You'll be okay."

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

"You should go look for Sarah," Twelve said finally.

"You sure?"

"We have to find her." Had to see her, to know she was okay. "I'll just… ask the nice man for more drugs."

Kat nodded slowly. A bead of blood slipping down her cheek, like a tear, and she absently wiped it off. It seemed to take her a long time to stand.

"If I see your dad—"

"Thanks."

The moment Twelve was alone, or as alone as she was going to get here, she folded over. Nose touching her good knee.

And she cried.

* * *

_Dead. _The others. They were all dead.

The light hurt. So much.

So she called to the black again.

Closed her eyes.

_They're all dead. _

Blackness.

_All dead. _

* * *

**So the quote at the top was from a book—The Reapers are the Angels— that I just read. It's incredibly amazing. Don't let the zombie crap fool you. It's not about the zombies, not really. Not in the way Amazon makes it sound, anyway. It's brilliant. All I knew about it when I started it was the first three sentences—**_**"God is a slick god. Temple knows. She knows because of all the crackerjack miracle still to be seen on this ruined globe."**_** So I couldn't **_**not **_**read it…. anyway. Yeah. It's brilliant. /plug **

**Victor Janus—**maybe. *shrug*

**AHumanRobot—**Thanks. I've sort of figured out where I am with fight scenes. The ones near the beginning are so terribly awkward it's distressing.

**HP: **Me? Leave a character unmaimed? Naw. (Is unmaimed even a word?) "dual insanity" is probably the best way you can describe those two. *nod* And yeah, they're totally both into the power gig. I don't think they're into homicide, though. Well, if it served their purposes, I don't' think they'd object. God, that's disturbing. Remember when Eden was all 'be a good person?' in the crap!fic? *laughs demonically at seventh grade self*

**EDTA: **which is why you've mercifully shortened it to EDTA for us mortals : ) and… I don't think it's that much like TLO. Percy still has morals. And Lars doesn't kill Kronos.

**Moon: **C'mon. That's like the only cliffie I've put in this whole damn story.

**Dreamcatcher: **Yeah… I was trying to explain to two five year olds why the release of DH was happy/sad but they didn't get it. (I felt the same way about Buffy too.)

**Emily: **I think that was Eden thinking it, I'll have to double-check.

**Brightgreenskittles: **(Now I want skittles.) Yeah, I'm kind of an anti-vomit person. You should watch Buffy. You should most definitely watch Buffy. And you should not care about season one of Buffy because it's awful. (I didn't even watch the whole thing.) And the beginning of season two is silly, but once you get to "Surprise" it's complete brilliance and remains so throughout the rest of the seasons. Yep.

**DC: **Oh, okay. If I feel inspired, I guess I'll go look… the chapters have gotten really long so I miss more things.


	49. Chapter 49

"_The hardest thing in this world… is to live in it."  
-Joss Whedon, "The Gift," (BtVS 5.22)_

Rumors like the flies that had descended on the battlefield. So many rumors darting about. Public mornings, private ones. Who was alive, who was dead, and it changed by the minute.

So many rumors. So she didn't believe the man who ran through the soccer field hospital, shouting the latest before a doctor shut up him. She didn't believe it when the rumor came around again. People whispering it, mat to mat. A game of telephone. Words change. Meanings change. It meant nothing.

So she didn't believe it. Didn't believe it until she finally saw him. Saw the expression on his face.

"Thank the gods," he muttered, sitting down next to her. Breathing as though he'd just come a very long way. "Katrina found me, and—"

"Is it true?" she asked quietly. Cut him off. Feeling herself shut down inside as she waited. She was alive, he was alive. They could leave it at that.

"They told me you were okay," he was still mumbling. "Should have come by earlier, I tried—"

Apologies mean nothing, not now. They'd all done what they had to—and—and she doesn't want to hear about it. There are so many other things.

She didn't want to let herself be relieved.

"Is it true?" she says louder. "About Eden?"

(The expression on his face. Was that how he'd looked when Twelve disappeared?)

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "It's true."

Except it couldn't be, because Eden didn't die. Eden wasn't supposed to. The girl who had been her way out of Kunhyi mansion, who she'd always been a little jealous of even though she knew technically there was no reason to be, who had been on TV all those years, who she had admired while cleaning the houses and envied while living with….

Gone?

Because Twelve had seen her sitting in Lars's basement, somehow both dead and breathing, and she—

"She went after Lars," Twelve said quietly. Greg nodded.

Because both Eden and Willow had escaped the basement. But in the end it had killed them both.

Too many. Too many dead. Alida and Lily and—and Eden, and Twelve wasn't sure if she'd really liked her. But she had always _been _there. Been fighting the fight.

"When did…"

"'Bout an hour ago." His voice was quiet, very quiet, but Twelve could see the woman on the next mat straining to listen. But she pulled back a little under the force of Twelve's glare.

"Dawn was trying to dig her out. The throne room collapsed. Crushed—using all the energy. She woke up, though. For a moment. I came and she was awake already, and for a second, I thought—but she wasn't making any sense. And she tried to breathe. And then she couldn't. And Artemis healed her, all the injuries. But she didn't have…"

And Twelve remembered when the man had burned at the hangings. How Eden touched him and he was burning up and how Eden had passed out afterwards and how this was the same thing but this time it had killed her.

"I'm so sorry." It was so much easier to think about _his _grief, focus on his and ignore her own.

He avoided her eyes. "Doesn't seem real just yet."

And she had to tell him, had to tell him, because if she waited any longer she wouldn't be able to.

"Dad. Dad, you have to find Dawn."

She was a calm, mature adult. She could do this. She could do this without breaking down.

He stared at her for a moment. Ran his hand up and down is dirt-smeared pant leg as though trying to clean it. "What?"

Bad news, a world of bad news, the world, the world that they'd won and yet was so awful.

"It's Lily. Lily's dead." She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry. "You have to tell Dawn. I don't know if anyone's found her. They didn't believe me. They ignored me and I tried to tell them but she's missing, the house blew up and I couldn't find her and you need to tell Dawn."

(_And Jesus fuck her leg hurt.) _

"Oh, gods." And he opened his mouth. Started to say something. Stopped.

He didn't cry either. Not yet. But the pain, it was so clear on his face. Like he was going to break under the weight of it.

Like they all were.

The world came with a price.

The ones who paid the price didn't get to enjoy it.

* * *

She didn't see the body.

She had the chance. Her dad had asked. Before they covered her with the silver shroud and burned her along with the rest.

And maybe she should have seen the girl she once idolized, sometimes despised, lifeless and empty and bloody. Given it an ending. The type of ending Alida wouldn't get because Alida had no body. But it was death. The death—

And she didn't want to remember her that way.

* * *

"Did you check them all? " Twelve wanted to stand. Wanted to be with them. But she couldn't.

Maybe not ever. Maybe she wouldn't be able to stand right ever.

But she couldn't, couldn't think about that, couldn't think about what they had told her. Not now, not ever. God. What if—

What if—

Fif nodded. "We checked all the hospitals. Asked everyone."

"No. You're wrong." And she looked around, as if she would see Sarah coming towards them. "You're wrong. You... you missed her."

And she was crying, and he was crying, and he slowly sat down next to her. Not Sarah. Not Sarah too. Not Six.

"Maybe she'll turn up."

Maybe . And she clung to that lifeline. They hadn't found all the injured yet, they hadn't… but the tears were back, so many tears.

"Can't look for her in the dark." He indicated the sky. The blue sky, full of stars. "I'll try again in the morning."

"You promise? "

"Of course."

And then they were holding onto each other, survivors of an accident, a shipwreck, a bloody, violent battle, and crying. Tears, so many tears, mixing together. Like the blood had earlier. Alida's blood and her blood and Jonathan's tears, covering her.

* * *

"You'll get a fake one and everything. You'll be able to take it off and scare people. And you'll never be able to stub those toes again." Fif balanced on one foot, folding his other leg up behind him. For one minute, he stood, and the next he had fallen over onto his face.

"I feel like an old lady." An old lady in quite a lot of pain. Twelve slumped forwards, hiding her face in her hands. And Zeus, it hurt so much right now. The infection, they said. Blood poisoning, they said. But after an operation it would stop hurting, they said. That the stump would heal, they said, and—but—it was her leg, her _leg, _and—

"Look at it this way. Everyone came out a little worse. It's a battle scar, Twelve. You helped save the world. You've earned the right to drive over people in a motorized wheelchair. And people will be all 'what happened to your leg?' and you can be all 'the second Titan war' and they can be all 'no way' and you can be all 'way' and… I'm not selling this, am I."

"What I _did_ was get my friend killed." Alida. She'd picked the house and—

"They'll get you on a leggie soon enough. You won't have to use the wheelchair forever. Hey, at least you _have _a wheelchair right now. A bunch of people that aren't Gregory Galdstrup's daughter don't." Fif glanced around the field, at the injured, and the desperate. "They're using a room at the Holiday Inn as the new council room 'cause it's the securest place that's not blown up. Maybe when the gods come back they'll zap us more stuff. Anyway, they—your dad and Dawn and Peter and everyone—are deciding what to do with Lor—with Lars. Don't you want to see him get it?"

How had she gotten to this point? In two days' time, her leg would be a bunch of tubes, and two days after that she'd be able to take the tubes out, and then—

And then what?

A stump?

Oh god. She was—an invalid. A disabled person. And she couldn't run or walk or—

"Lars? Comeuppance? You up for it?" Fifteen said urgently. "Greg said that Kat could go. You don't want her to be the only one to see."

But—

"Go watch," said the woman lying on the ground a few feet away. The one who had listened to her dad earlier. Hugging her arm to her chest, eyes closed.

Twelve nodded slowly. Looked back at Jonathan. "Did you look for… did you find her?"

He shook his head.

"Oh."

On second thought. She wanted to see Lars in pain very much.

* * *

Dizzy. Surrounded. Light, bright, light too bright. Voices... voices coming at him from all sides. Voice talking about him?

_You were knocked out, _he remembered. Okay. Now he was—where? He had to open his eyes and find out.

Just a few people close by. Not lots and lots like he'd thought. Why weren't there more? Shouldn't there be more people there for him?

But instead it was just a handful. Johnson. Satyr. Galdstrup. That Hunter with the black hair. That son of Apollo whose name he had never been able to remember. And, off to the side, a brown haired girl in a wheelchair with—

_Short Asian kid? _

_Hunter! Emmerson! _He had to kill—he had a mission.

"Kill," Johnson was saying.

Yes, kill. Like Kronos would do to his dad—

_Dad—_

He had to wake up. He had to ask. "Don't I have a right to a phone call?"

He was inside. A hotel room. Two double beds, a lamp. Two beds with a bunch of people sitting on them. Chains hugging him, the only thing keeping them apart.

_Lost. Failed. Dad. _

The Hunter glared at him, a look that answered his question.

No. No. Someone had to be looking after—see if he was still alive—because no one knew, no one knew it might get so big so fast. "My dad—" raised his voice. Louder, louder. "My dad!"

There was so much fury on her face as she stared at him that for a second she looked so much like Emmerson. "Shut _up_."

No. No. "Tumor bigger." Had to explain. "It could be—"

"Can't I just kill him now?" Hunter turned towards Galdstrup. John. That was her name. Dawn John. Or was it Jon? Was there an _h? _She was only ten feet away, if he could move, he could get to her. If he could move, he could kill her.

"Wait."

And Lars knew that voice. He knew it well, as someone stepped forward. From the corner where the wheelchair girl was. He knew the voice, knew the face. The red-blonde hair. The shape of her nose. Knew everything about her.

"Ten."

A fist on his face out of nowhere. "_Shut_ _up._"

But her eyes. Her eyes were different. Brighter. Stronger.

"What's wrong with Dr. Kunhyi?" she demanded. And this had been a terrible idea because they would just use it against him, they would—

"What—no—don't hurt him."

"Tell me what's wrong with him." Then, glanced over her shoulder at the others. "What did you say you gave him? He's completely incoherent."

"What was on hand. I don't remember." Johnson blinked. "He's not just normally stupid?"

The kitchen. Bathroom. Bedroom. North wall. That was what see when he looked at her, and maybe she could tell, because her face hardened. And she must be remembering it too.

Back when the power had been his.

"Katrina," Johnson said warily, "what are you—"

Ten. Her hand. On his arm. Fingers digging in, painful, as she looked him in the eye for… for the first time. Ten.

"_What's wrong with him?_"

Explain. Right. Explain to Ten."Tumor. Kronos. Kronos makes it bigger if I do bad and Kronos is gone and—alive? He alive?" Thoughts, words, slowly fitting back into place. And she let go of him but it still burned where she'd touched and she was backing away.

"Fine." Voice flat. Bitter. "I'll go check on him. See if he's okay."

"Katrina." (Why did people keep calling her that?) But this time it was Galdstrup. "Are you sure you—"

"Since when do we care about the families of—"

"Shut up." She spun around, slamming one fist on the wooden desk, and even the idea of such a sudden motion made Lars dizzy. Dizzy dizzy. "Just shut the fuck up."

Hearing this from her reminded him of the old Ten. The one who had been there those first few weeks, before she learned where she belonged. "So you're back," Lars mumbled.

Another blow, and his head was starting to clear. And the knowledge was coming. Hard. Fast.

They had actually lost.

So it didn't matter what happened now.

Said clear head was lost, though, when her fist came down on his head and he retreated back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Katrina turned slowly, faced Dawn and the others. "Don't kill him."

Everyone stared. And Twelve wondered if she'd really just heard it. Heard _Ten, _of all people, say it. She rolled the chair back a couple inches, towards the closet. In case of the storm.

And Kat was now receiving the full force of Dawn's glare. "_What?_"

"Don't kill him." Repeated. Voice calm. But she had picked up the small book of Titan Glory off the desk and was running her thumb down the pages like it was a flip book. Back and forth, back and forth. "He doesn't deserve it." And then she glanced at the book, at the title, and tossed it into the recycling.

Dead silence. Silence so thick that Twelve wasn't sure if anything could defeat it, much less something as puny as words.

"What he deserves," Katrina continued, now just clenching and unclenching her fist, "is to be locked up somewhere dark and unpleasant where he will only be able to eat wonder bread and not able to move until he gets old, after decades and decades in the dark, and dies of old age. Otherwise we're just letting him free to Asphodel early."

"It's not really your call," Dawn said shortly. Pause. "How come you're even here?"

"Whose call is it?" Kat demanded, ignoring the other comment.

The silence returned. Dawn took a step over, sat down next to Peter on the bed. Glare never leaving.

"Staying alive can be worse than death. More painful, in the end." They were all met with another of Kat's glares as she left the room, presumably to find a phone.

* * *

"She's not here." Fif straightened. Twelve rolled forward, carefully scanning the faces. "Maybe Kat—"

"I can't find her." Katrina sank to her knees, holding her face in her hands. And Twelve wished she could sit down next to her, comfort her, be comforted by her, but she couldn't leave the fucking chair.

"Maybe she's stuck somewhere," Twelve muttered. "Maybe she's trapped and she can't get out." One second to realize that was redundant before she continued. "And maybe she thinks we abandoned—"

"Shut," Kat growled, looking up. "We'll find her."

"Is Dr. Kunhyi still alive?" Twelve asked softly. And they slowly moved, away from the injured, the sleeping.

Ten nodded. "Yeah. He's gonna make it, though he needs another surgery."

"Did you tell Lars?"

She couldn't see in the dark, but she was sure that Katrina was scowling. "I said I'd check, not that I'd tell him about it." Pause. "The Doc's an okay person, though. I mean… I had to."

There had been the time with the pain meds, and the New Year's party where he'd told her about her dad, and when he'd sent her to the garden—

No. They couldn't just let him die.

"You know what I hate?" Twelve muttered.

Fif smiled. "Everything?"

"I hate that ten years ago they basically fought this same fight. And I hate that in another century they might have to do it again. I hate how even if the Titans don't stir, the gods will cause more major wars just out of boredom and fighting amongst themselves, and I hate how it's going to be one endless power struggle between them and the Titans or them and the other gods and you can see the struggle coming between Athena and Zeus and the last time _that _happened it started the American Civil War and if it's not that it's going to be them and the half bloods and the mortals are going to get caught up in it. I hate how we died for them, and they don't even bother to heal the injured. They just go on as though we were fucking cannon fodder and now they're on Olympus attempting to realign the world in a _good _way but we're leaving one small group with the idea of what good _is _and they're probably wrong_. _It's like dictatorship. Except they're _never _going to die."

"Better than the Titans," Fif said gently. Helped her roll up onto a sidewalk.

It was eerie, the empty streets. A few citizens had returned, but they didn't go out much. Usually it was just the rebels, wandering around, looking more lost than victorious. Attacking walls or hiding behind them. In groups or alone.

But now, under the dark blue sky, there was no one.

Twelve sighed. "And if they just left us alone—if they _grew up _and learned how to deal with it—what would the world be like if we just ran it ourselves?"

"But they'll never see, and if they do, they won't care. You'll never be able to tell them any of that. They'd smite you." Kat grimaced. "The gods… and their cronies… hate people that are different."

They slowed outside Starbucks, the first one open as the exodus reversed. It took a moment to recognize Dawn in the window, dark hair falling forward, creating a barrier between her and the outside world. Surrounded by coffee mugs.

Twelve had one quick flashback to Lars after a lost battle, bottle in hand.

"Come on."

Katrina hesitated before following. And then she and Jonathan hurried towards the counter, leaving Twelve to wheel over to the Hunter. Hesitating, not sure if she should be there, but—

_Lars destroyed himself. _And she made a choice.

"Dawn?"

Clunk, and the mug landed on the table. Dawn looked up. Her eyes were dry, but Twelve felt like she had never seen such a sad person in all her life.

"Hey, 'Drienne," Dawn mumbled.

"Are you…" Twelve stopped next to the table. She'd been about to ask if Dawn was okay. But of course Dawn was not okay.

"What are you doing here?"

"I keep thinking maybe if I wait long enough they'll show." Dawn sounded half-drunk, or maybe that was just exhaustion. "We were going to go to Starbucks again. When it was over."

The guilt came back, like it always did. Punched her in the gut. "I couldn't help." A whisper. "I—it was so fast— she probably never fully realized what…"

"And then she was in the underworld. Maybe it's nicer there." Dawn glanced to one side, and Twelve recognized Eden's silver band sitting on the table. By her elbow. And she pointed.

"Have you put it on?"

Headshake. "Probably won't fit."

"Course it will."

"Nah." Dawn took another drink.

"Well, someone'll have to lead the new Hunters."

But all she got was a tired stare. "Why me? They were all better fighters I'm the one that's alive. Stupid, is what it is."

Twelve looked down. The words, the feelings, rushing toward the surface, out before she could stop them. "Alida and Lily were way better than me." And maybe, if she had done something different—

Neither of them said anything for a second.

"I'm sorry about your leg." And Dawn turned towards the counter, raised her voice. "'Nother, please."

The slightly frightened barista nodded. His hands shaking as he picked up another mug.

"Did you get any of the gods to see if they could fix it?

"They aren't around," Twelve said shortly. The pain becoming even more intense as she thought about it. "I… it got… they think they're going to have to… take it off." One second to process, yet again, what that meant. "There's people in worse shape, though. I'm gonna live. If the gods were around maybe they'd be better. The injured. But they're _not._"

Dawn nodded, accepting the new cup. "Lot of that going around, I guess."

"Haven't seen Artemis in awhile, either, huh?"

"Two days. She's getting Apollo."

"Oh."

"She'll be back."

"Of course." Because Artemis wasn't going to leave her Hunters. Hunter. Singular. God.

They sat in the quiet for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, Twelve saw Jonathan and Katrina sit down a few tables away. Ducking, trying to stay inconspicuous. And Twelve should go join them.

"One of the last things I did was lie to her." Dawn blinked, shook her head. "I don't think I've ever— remember last month?"

When it had been somewhat normal? When both Marisol and Lily had been alive, when Alida had been alive, when Sarah hadn't been missing, when she'd been able to run and walk and do so many things that she hadn't really appreciated? Living at camp in secrecy and yet that seemed better than having won?

"Not at all."

"Me either." Another pause, another drink. "Don't know what I'll do tomorrow. My instincts tell me to just keep waiting. Think it'll help?"

Waiting for Lily. Waiting for Sarah.

"No," Twelve said softly. "I don't."

* * *

They sat in the corner, up against two walls of the oddly shaped lobby. The building was one of the few that had been declared safe, but most people didn't want to risk it, remaining out on the fields where the snoring wasn't as loud.

"Maybe we'll find her tomorrow," Twelve said numbly. "Maybe Kat is finding her right now."

"Maybe." Fif looked at her. And there were tears on his face. On his and hers. Both falling. Twelve swallowed. And there wasn't enough air in the world, not for her, not for everyone. Shaking, she tilted her head, rested it up against his.

Grief. It contaminated everything.

A few moments of silence.

"Sittin' in a club with a bottle of red wine, stars in our eyes 'cause we're havin' a good time," Jonathan whispered, not loud enough to wake anyone.

And Twelve had to smile, just a little. Wonder why he could make her laugh when surrounded by death. "Be your best friend, yeah I'll love you forever."

"Up in the clouds we'll be higher than ever." Crouching in the corner of some form of lobby. Lights out, pitch dark. Battle won, everything lost.

"Eh-eh, eh-eh, so happy I could die."

She squeezed his hand. Once. He was alive. She was alive.

"And it's all right."

* * *

**End, sans Epilogue.**

* * *

**What are you supposed to do with the last chapter, if there's still an epilogue? Writing 'The End' felt wrong because it's not the end. **

**Since the epilogue format was a little odd, I divided it in two. Thus, two epilogues a'comin. Still, this's the end of the non-epilogueyness. **

**(I'm also writing this A/N at midnight. Bear with me here.) **

**(I know that _So Happy I Could Die _is most likely about masturbating, but, whatever.) **

**(Originally, I cut off Twelve's foot at the beginning of this chapter, but then this chapter got super long, so I cut the chapter by uncutting the leg. This was after, of course, I spent a morning reading the Amputee's Guide to the Amputation and pestering Vville with useless factoids…) **

**Neiner: **Yeah, I imagine it would. And Dawn didn't know Lily was dead, she just knew Lily wasn't there, but she didn't tell Eden that. Yeah, Athena's been the boss for awhile, and she's a littttle bit power hungry.

**Hp: **He's not all bad. He acts like it, but he doesn't know how to act. Patented is a word. Whdat o you mean it's not a word now that I've used it? *raises eyebrows* oh, yeah. I mean, she was kind of a douche then too, but back then she was a douche with morals that was all 'help innocent people!' like she was in the beginning of this one too. Now she's all 'screw the innocent people unless they can help me.'

**Robot: **Eden's definitely dead.

**Biblioholic: **She'll find out, but she'll be happy about it. Course I'll do an epilogue. It's been written for months…

**Lovetoread: **Thanks

**EDTA: **The Hunters are reduced to one. : ( They were once twelve, actually.

**DCThunder: **Context and content are different. Content is like… the content and context is like.. the background? Like if I was talking about writing and I said "I kill people" and you heard only "I kill people" without the context (the conversation about writing) you might think I was a hired assassin. That's an awful explanation. But whatever.

**Emily: **I'll actually have fifty one chapters : ) And it doesn't quite go like that.

**Tony: **Thanks =) yeah, I'm a little sorry it's ending too, and also happy-relieved. Me and yoot have a love-hate relationship.

**Dreamcatcher: **Fire bad. Tree pretty. : ) and it's gotta end. You'd get annoyed if it went on forever.

**Ix: **Well. Now you know. : )


	50. Epilogue pt 1

_All endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time."  
— The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom._

_The brown haired woman laughs, muscles straining, air fleeing her lungs as she runs. Prosthetic foot clacking on the pavement. And she slowly pulls ahead of the man next to her, until they finally both collapse in a heap on the grass. _

"_Of course," he says, "we're both self-respecting adults." _

"_But of course." _

_They lie there for a few minutes, harsh light shining down on them. _

"_You can be an adult and still race to the picnic table," she says finally. "For a bit, anyway. I guess we'll have to stop when Sarah becomes a teenager." _

_He rolls onto his stomach. "Aren't you supposed to embarrass them _more _when they're teenagers?" _

_She shrugs. Sits up and begins fiddling with her fake leg. Detaching it, putting it gently in the grass next to them. "I was never sure how that worked." _

"_We'll figure it out. Just imagine what you never wanted your dad to do, and then do that." _

_They laugh, scaring away a few gulls that had come to see if they had food. _

"_Mostly I just wanted my dad to be there." She says finally. "And what happens when she gets to school and starts learning about the war and asks what—"_

"_We'll worry about that when it comes, k? C'mon, Adrienne. It's nice and sunny and we're acting like we're still in our twenties and don't care who gets offended. Don't sweat." _

_She starts to put her leg back on. "Right. But what if she doesn't like Lady Gaga?" _

"_Then," Jonathan says seriously, "We'll have to take parenting classes." _

* * *

_The older man looks up at the knock at the door, and he moves toward it slowly. Opening it, he sees a man about his age fiddling with the edge of his coat. _

_There's a stunned silence, and they study each other. _

"_Gregory Galdstrup," the older man says. Pause. "Come in?" _

_The apartment is small, and mostly empty. Greg continues adjusting his sleeve while the other man holds up a beer bottle, eyebrows raised. Greg nods. _

"_Afternoon, Kunhyi." Pause." I know this is about ten years late," he begins, as the other man sits. "But… uh. I—I just heard that you came back in town, and I—anyway… Adrienne told me what you did. And I just… wanted to… thank you." _

_Dr. Kunhyi blinks. _

"_For keeping her safe." _

_The doctor sighs, runs his fingers through his hair." I guess I shoulda done more, huh?" _

"_But you couldn't, I guess." _

" _I should—" he takes a sip, amber liquid swirling in the glass . "I did what I could, I tell myself I did what I could. But… he was my son, you know?" And there's a desperation in his voice, a need for the other man to understand. _

"_I get it." But it's obvious that Greg wishes he didn't. "I thought she was… and if there's a way to keep your kids safe—" _

"_I lost a daughter awhile back. Twenty years or so ago." Dr. Kunhyi takes another drink. "And I guess I figured, if there was any way to avoid going through that again…" _

"_I'm sorry." _

"_Lars pretended like she never existed. She… it was that summer at Camp when the boarders broke. Did you ever… oh. Well, one summer Luke Castellan managed to get the magical boarders to keep out the monsters to stop working and so there were swarms. Ismene and Lars were twins. Always together. Usually fighting, but together. And then one day she was just… gone." _

"_And you get the phone call." Greg took another drink. "Where they aren't really sure how to say it and it's mostly normal and then the world falls out and you don't believe them but you know in your gut that it's true." _

"_Yeah. You've been there, I guess." _

"_Send them off to school one day and—" _

_They're both silent a moment. _

"_Ismene was…" Kunhyi laughs a little. "Blonde. Grey eyes. Looked a lot like her mom, but I guess they all do. Never took anything lying down. She used to get in trouble yelling at all the other kids in school because she was so sure she was right and they were wrong. And usually that was the case." _

_Greg laughs a little. "I knew a girl like that once." _

"_I think that's why he hated her so much, even if he'd never admit it." Pause. "It became… really quickly it became personal. Before they'd ever met. More than anything else." Another pause. "I wasn't going to let him kill them, though. Te—Katrina and Adrienne and Sarah. Hell." Drink. "I was going to see if I could get him to kill Emmerson quickly, if nothing else." _

"_For the same reason Lars wanted to kill her?" _

"_Maybe." _

_Another silence, this one a little shorter. _

"_Did you know?" Greg asked. "When we came for her?"_

_Shrug. "I guessed. I knew you'd come at some point. So I went walking through the yard, obsessively, looking for a sign. I saw something in the hedge. Sent Twelve—Adrienne—out on a hunch. Hoped you'd get Ten out of there too. _Ten._ Gods." _

_Another gulp. Glass half empty. _

"_Eden could never really look Katrina in the eye," Greg said softly. _

"_She called me. When you caught Lars, she called me. It was the phone call again." _

"_I remember. He wasn't really coherent but he kept on demanding that someone see if you were okay. And then Kat just kind of walked forward, demanded to know what was wrong with you. And Dawn—you could tell Dawn wanted to argue with her, started to, and Kat just turned on her and told her, told all of us, to shut the fuck up. And then she punched him in the head. Knocked him out." He laughs a little. "Ten years. But I don't think I'm ever going to forget that." _

"_Atta girl." Drink. "I pretended for awhile, that I didn't know. About Lars and Ten. Told myself that it wasn't him. By the time I really tried to talk to him, he was too far gone, you know. I tried to protect him and he just ended up destroying himself from the inside." _

"_He had the power." _

"_And you let him live." _

"_Katrina let him live. Would you rather he was dead?" _

"_It's not like you let him live out of mercy."_

"_No."_

_It is with a grim understanding that they both take another sip. _

"_I remember him when he was a baby. He was a happy kid, for awhile. I used to have two kids—" a quick shake of the head. "So how is Adrienne?" _

_Greg shrugs. "She's doing good. Runs all over town on her nonexistent leg, the way she tells it. But she and Jonathan moved to Chicago a few years back so I don't see them much." _

"_Jonathan? Fifteen?" _

"_That'd be the one." _

"_Finally noticed, did she? He was always following her around here with moon eyes…" _

_Greg studies him for a moment. "Your really did watch them, didn't you." _

_Kunhyi shrugs, stared at his empty glass. "Want me to get another out of the fridge?" _

* * *

_He pulls himself out of the pool, flipping his wet hair out of his face. Behind him, the dolphin nudges his hand. _

"_No more treats for you," he says, and with a resentful look it swims off. _

"_How's it going, Paul?" A much younger man approaches, blue Sea World t-shirt shining like a beacon. _

"_It's great." _

"_I've never seen the dolphins do so well—ever, man." _

_The older, dark haired one picks up a water bottle. "Treats are the way into their hearts." _

"_Yeah well. They especially like treats comin' from you. Dennis swears you can talk to them or something." _

_Paul grins. "Or something. I'm gonna clear out now." _

"_Okay. Bye." _

_The older man ducks behind the shed, and, all of a sudden, he is perfectly dry and heading towards the parking lot. _

_A woman points at him, and he cringes. But it's the ten year anniversary, with the pictures all over the TV stations, and he should have stayed home, and she's already coming towards him. Fast. _

"_Excuse me? Are you… are you Peter Johnson?" _

"_Paul Jackson. Excuse me." He pushes past her, hurries for his car. _

* * *

"_Elliot Kyle, you can either sit down in class or sit down in the principal's office. It's your choice." He sits quickly, and the teacher sighs. "Okay. So does anyone remember what—" _

"_Miss Katrina!" A girl raises her hand. "Elliot just pinched me." _

_Katrina sighs, tucks a strand of hair over one ear. "Elliot, back of the line." _

"_But she—" _

"Back._ Now, you're all going to follow Mackenzie to the auditorium like _civilized. People."

_They file out of the room, glancing at each other, like, _why do _we _have the crazy teacher? _And Katrina sighs, sits down on top of a random desk, as the door closes behind them. The assistant teacher starts to follow, and then glances back. _

"_Kat? You coming?" _

"_Nope." _

"…_I thought… is this just for the kids?" _

_Katrina shakes her head. "No. You should go." _

"_Why aren't you?" _

_Shrug. "C'mon, Jenelle. It's the Ten Years of Freedom assembly. They're going to play trivia games and look at pictures of Eden Emmerson and Gregory Galdstrup and talk about what an evil person Lars Kunhyi was and celebrate. I'm not in the mood." _

"_You think they should ignore it?" Jenelle frowns, hand on the door knob. "Hold a funeral?"_

"_I _think _they should stop _glorifying _it!" Katrina says, louder than she had intended. "I've read that stuff they give to the kids. Living in camp, secret codes, _Elysium Bound,_ killing monsters. Like it's a fucking adventure book. I… one of my best friends died in Seattle. We never found her body. The ending wasn't the light show they make it out to be. Emmerson stepping forward to save the day. Whatever." _

"We _know that." Jenelle says softly. "But they're kids." _

"_I was basically a kid. I was seventeen when—" she stops abruptly, shakes her head. Lowers her voice. "They're just… they dehumanize them. All of them. Eden might be a war hero, but if—well. I helped her get out of Kunhyi mansion, she helped _me _get out, but… me and her were different in the way she thinks is most important, and even with that she could never look me in the face." She picks up a pencil off the desk, lines it up directly with the edge. "Go to the assembly, Jenelle." _

_But the younger woman doesn't move. "You were in Kunhyi mansion?" _

_Katrina nods shortly. Hesitates a second. Then another second. But Jenelle is staring at her hard, and after a few moments she beings speaking again. "I was… sold as a slave at the beginning." She rubs her knee, suddenly ashamed. "And in the auditorium they're listing Lars Kunhyi's misdeeds and turning him into a supervillan, and I hate him, I hate the ground he walks on. But I've also seen him come home from a losing battle and drink himself into incoherence and laugh at SNL with his dad and tremble with fear at Kronos's latest threat. But to everyone else, he's not human. By the time these kids are old enough to really understand they'll already have the ideas in their heads. They'll be legends, all of them, but they're people, and everything happened, and it _wasn't _fun and it wasn't exciting and it wasn't a movie and they'll never get that. Not if they show it like this." _

"_What else can you do." Jenelle sighs. Glances at Katrina out of the corner of her eye. "They'll grow up someday, they all will… how long have you been wanting to get all that off your chest?" _

_Short pause, and Katrina smiles a little bit. Turns to the street, watches the palm trees dance in the wind. Through the window framed with children's drawings and cursive letters. "Awhile." _

* * *

"_Dawn?" Eliza stops just behind her. "Lady Artemis says to come back. We're going to eat and then clear out." _

_The Hunters glow in the morning light. Reflections from the lieutenant band dance in the trees. _

"_Okay," Dawn says finally. "Is Aspen awake yet?" _

"_Sort of. She tends to linger in a half-conscious state. C'mon." It's only about thirty feet back, but the walk seems to take awhile. Their small camp—four tents in a line—is quiet. Just a teenage girl poking a fire, babbling about something to the goddess. _

"—_appearances? Like, Athena made Odysseus look all awesome, but he still looked like _him. _But what if, like, I wanted to go incognito hunting and you made me turn camouflage?" _

_Artemis looks amused. "Where did that question come from?" _

_Aspen rubs her eyes, yawns. "Had a dream that I was chasing a monster and I looked like a tree." _

"_I see." She's still smiling a little. "Well. We can control our own appearance. But mortals… I don't know if anyone's ever—" _

"_Zeus did," Dawn says very quietly, kneeling in front of the fire and warming her hands. Artemis looks at her. _

"_Yes," she says softly. "Zeus did." _

_Eliza blinks. "Huh?" _

"_He made Eden into an exact copy of her mother to try and keep anyone from finding out," the lieutenant says shortly. "If she'd grown up she'd have looked exactly like her. Dunno what her DNA intended." _

"_I wonder what she'd have really looked like." Lauren considers a moment. Then, "should I go hunt down some breakfast?" _

"_We should get going." Artemis waves her head, and a box of pizza appears. Aspen and Eliza descend on it with squeals of delight. A plastic pizza table desecrates the earthen floor. _

_Artemis smiles a little. Glances at Dawn. "Happy tenth." _

_Dawn nods. "So where was the chimera headed?" _

* * *

"Eden… Eden…"

She opens her eyes slowly, and Willow grins. "Gods, I thought you'd be out forever."

"No chance of that." Eden rolls out of bed, lands on the floor. Her scarless face greets her in the mirror.

"Were you watching them?" Willow asks, half dragging her towards the door. Eden nods, blinking in the sudden light. Begins a walk that's both long and short. No clear beginning, no end. Just walking.

"Yeah."

"How're they doing?"

They stop under a tree, waiting. Its shade isn't really necessary, not here, but it still feels nice in a way Eden can't quite place her finger on. And she is about to answer when she sees the man across the street.

He doesn't have a name in her mind, bit the sight of him brings back memories—shadowy ones, of a garden, jumping off a log.

_Look, Papa. I'm a bird! _

She smiles.

"Eden? Eden? Earth!" Willow jumps up and down in an overdramatic fashion, waving her arms. "Elysium to Eden."

Eden blinks, turning back to her. "They're alright. They'll be alright." She nods. "When were Thal and Lydia supposed to meet us here, again?"

Willow shrugs. "Twenty minutes ago. We were late. You were sleeping."

"I guess they're later." Eden shrugs, lies down on the grass. "Screw late. We have forever."

* * *

**End of Epilogue part 1. **

* * *

**Critter: **I didn't even know you read it : D Yay for epilogueyness.

**Redfluffybanana: **So I've come to the conclusion that writers are the only people who are allowed to say "thank you" when told they made someone cry. That being said, sorry about the crying thing. That's sad. : ( Yeah… well. It was mercy, really.

**Hp: **I love your way of seeing things. I didn't intend to make it like that, but I can see your point… well, I dunno if it'd be fictional holocaust, since it wasn't really similar. But maybe just icky wars in general? And Starbucks will someday take over the world. If Google doesn't do it first.

**Dreamcatcher: **Thanks, I guess. :D

**AHumanRobot: **Shoot. I'll go edit them out… later.

**Tonycat: **I did. But you have to keep me from doing more. I can't stay on FFN, I really can't.

**EDTA: **I've never seen any anime, so I dunno. But yeah… I considered turning it into this whole big thing but decided that that'd make it too long. Hades was stuck with the other Olympians though he might have gotten out later, I don't remember. Um… for the Hunters, most of them were dead in the beginning. So left was Eden, Dawn, Rio, Marisol, Lily, and Willow. Then Rio was killed. Then Willow committed suicide. Then Marisol died. Then Lily got blown up. Then Eden got smushed. So there's only Dawn left. And yeah, it means I'm going to leave FF.

**DC: **anyway, they're two majorly different things, so yeah. : ) and I definitely need help. I'm working on it.


	51. Epilogue pt 2

"_Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?"_

_-Matthew, 27:46_

It's cold. Cold, and dark. But he didn't wrap his arms around himself, didn't shiver—no, any

sign of discomfort might be a sign of regret. And a sign of regret was a sign of weakness. A sign of remorse.

He had none.

He couldn't let himself. It would make it worse.

He wasn't allowed fear, either. No regret, no fear, no sense of time. He could have been thirty or eighty, it didn't matter. It was nothing, nothing but the dark. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe this was what death felt like.

He didn't know if it was long before they appeared. The shadows melting from the wall, there but not there, voices audible yet unheard.

Ismene was the first one. A blurry outline staring at him. And he glared at her, (because showing that he missed her would be a sign that he felt pain and he didn't feel pain because that might be a sign that they could hurt him and they couldn't hurt him if he felt nothing.)

"That's a water balloon, dick," she said, her voice echoing through time. "Do I look stupid?"

And then later she was gone, gone into the nothingness. And it could have been minutes or hours or years later that his father came. His mouth forming words, words that didn't make it across the room.

And once it was even Ten. Standing in front of him, eyes bright. "_Shut up! Tell me what's wrong with him!" _ Standing, glaring at him. For minutes or seconds or hours or years until she too left, left him alone. Random words, nonsense words, dancing in his head.

But he didn't care.

Shadows. Figments. Figments of his mind coming back to haunt him. Coming back because there was nothing else that could penetrate the dark.

He didn't acknowledge them.

Being crazy was bad. Being crazy showed that this place got to him. But it didn't, because if he hated being here that might be regret, and he didn't regret. He couldn't let himself regret.

He could almost feel his mind crumbling. Falling to pieces. Vanishing in the Dark.

And his visitors came with more and more frequency, forming lines across the room. Everyone, all there, _staring! _Sometimes speaking, sometimes just watching. Outlines or clear figures. Everywhere he looked, they were there, shadows, faces emerging just for a moment.

But he ignored them.

Until she came.

She, facing him. And he couldn't ignore, not any longer, not when she was there.

"_Taking a break?_" she demands.

"You're dead!" he yells. The first real sounds he has heard in so long and it makes his head hurt. And she doesn't speak. She just stares at him, with hate in her eyes. Fingers rubbing the handle of her knife.

He struggled to his feet, gasping for breath. And his legs didn't hurt, of course they didn't hurt, even when the chains bite his ankles.

And he is yelling, yelling so loud and he can hear his voice echoing back. "I killed you," he says over and over. "You got crushed. You're _dead!_"

_"It wasn't murder. It was practically a reward_."

And he blinks once, and her outline flickers. Disappears, and he thinks he's scared her away, (thinks she's gone for good,) but then she's back.

And he's realizing that he can't stand up, not well, and he's spinning around a little as he tries to find her (because she's flickering so much, she's on his left and his right and everywhere) but before he can move she's raised her knife.

"I won," he said again. "_I'm _the one that's alive. You're just a… you're just a… you're not _here._"

_"I'm dying when I want to." _But she's just a shadow, just a shadow, a shadow with a knife. And he stumbles backwards, and he's slipping, and he's falling.

-

When they find him, at first they think he's sleeping, sprawled out across the rock floor. But as they approach, as they roll him over, they find the sharp rock buried in his chest.

**O-o**

**END.**

**O-o**

_This is the part where I write a speech, right? Long year, writing style's evolved, everything that's come and gone in that time. Lalalala. _

_I'll skip the obvious parts, like how I read the early chapters and can't believe I honestly wrote that. Or how when I started, the Veritas were like five people and now they're like five hundred people. Or lots of things, I guess. _

_Mostly? Anyone who's stuck with me for the last fourteen months is awesome. And anyone who's started later and did all the reading to catch up is awesome. And if sometime in 2020 someone is surfing the old PJO archive and stumbles upon this story, you're pretty awesome as well. (I've read fanfics from like 2003, so… hey, you should review if you're reading this in a couple years, because that would actually be really cool. :D) _

_Anyway. Yeah, I'm rambley. Ends do that. Especially since I swear I'm leaving fanfic for real this time. (*cough*Shrrg*cough*)(Though I might, might, might rewrite the GGTWFF because it sucks and needs a rewrite. But that doesn't count!) I loved writing yoot when I didn't want to kill it. But when I did it I basically neglected every other thing I had to write and I need to… well, write other stuff. You know? _

_I'm not going to leave the site entirely. I'll still probably post one-shots now and then, and I'll lurk on Veritaville and Fanmortals, and I'm all over the internet, so you'll find me other places. _

_Said other places are listed on my profile, plus links to my nonfanfic stories. If you find yourself on inkpop, NaNoWriMo, Goodreads, Youtube, talk to me. :D we PJOers need to stick together. _

_Guess this is it, then. _

_You'll notice how I'm being nice and posting the end before the rapture so the more angelic among you can still know the ending. _

_Speaking of religioney things, I'm not saying Lars is anything like Jesus (with the quote at the top.) (And I mean, seriously. Lars and Jesus would… actually, they'd be best friends, because Jesus surrounded himself with the sinners to try and save them.) I just figured that's how he felt at the end. _

So. Long conclusion to _that _A/N. But it's the last one. So. Whatever. It's _allowed _to be 400 words this time.

**Biblioholic: **Yeahhh. Figured someone deserved happiness : ) And, Paul is Peter. Peter changed his name and basically went undercover 'cause limelight is so not his thing. And since he's a son of Poseidon, I figured Sea World was a good place for him.

**Eyha: **I honestly wasn't thinking about Percy Jackson at all. I was thinking of what's similar to Johnson but not. But yeah. He changed his name.

**You Know Who: **Hey, there you are : ) Did I mention that you should get an account? It'd take, like, five seconds… *sigh* And I'd totally kill off the MC. That's how it's supposed to work, isn't it? People die. I love Anya in general .It's a shame I didn't manage to fit in the whole 'humans are stupid but they keep fighting' quote in, because that one also fit. (I wrote a one-shot about Spike's jacket. You should read it just for the hell of it. :P) And that's a great quote.

**Critter: **Thankee.

**AHumanRobot: **Never heard of it. What's Dune about?

**Ixdookiie: **I feel bad for everyone involved in the war. Or any war. War sucks. It's bloody and awful and people die and are maimed and it's never really over till you die.

**Dreamcatcher: **I feel like I'm graduating. I'm both 'let this be over' and 'nooooooo!' at the same time. But it's gotta end sometime. You'd be annoyed if it kept going on.

**Brightgreenskittles: **It's a sign of my romance failure that I never actually wrote it happening :D. I'll fix the typos at some point. Thanks!

**EDTA: **You should also get an account so that you're PM-able. :P Athena killed Eden's mother when she had Zeus's baby. Which is why Eden hates her. And thanks. Yeah, I was thinking about it some, and was just like 'Greg and the doc have to meet.' And it worked. : )

**Shrrg: **Is you forgetting English the reason why there's no vowels in your nickname? :D and yeah. Adrienne/Jonathan (even though that makes a bloody awful pairing name. 'Jondrienne'? 'Adrithan'? Ew.) I'm sort of glad I didn't kill him when I'd planned to. Harrumph. Well, Dawn's probably not totally happy, but it's also been ten years and she has this new Hunt to build and stuff. (I didn't notice until the other day the coincidence that the last Hunter standing was named Dawn….)

**Emily: **That's how I felt writing it. And thanks!

**Tony: **Thanks. Yeah. Better things. That or I'm just moving on to more hours spent in front of Netflix.

**Perseverance, holder of the 600****th**** review badge: **Thanks : )

Love to you all

~Storm

_*swishes cloak and disappears mysteriously into the shadows*_


	52. This Preview Approved for All Audiences

_***swishes coat and mysteriously reappears from the darkness* **_

So, this is not an update. This is an A/N chapter. How dare I.

No, but seriously. I have a point. Not a very good point, but a point. And that is, I was thinking of as many ways as possible to Not Be Writing Mountains of Bronze like I was supposed to. So I decided that it would be a good idea to make a YOOT trailer.

So I did. And since it's only 38 seconds, and you've read this far, you should watch it because since you've actually read the story it hopefully won't be quite as random to you. (Though it might be. I was more like "LOOK! CLIPS! LET ME SMASH THEM TOGETHER!")

*coughs* anyway.

**http :/ www . youtube . com / watch?v=wtraBlpf-Io **

The people that recognize what clips are from what (I think there's only two from PJO -_-) get kudos, and possibly cyberbrownies.

(It's been two months and I haven't written any fanfic. Aren't you guys proud?)

Love to you all

~Storm

**FLOO POWDER POWER FLOO POWDER POWER FLOO POWDER POWER**

_***disappears again* **_


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